Venting Crow Poem by Andrus Cassian

One day goes by and you would think my luck sustained from before would carry over
but erupt goes the bad luck and my emotions run amuck
'till it's time to go home
It's simply easier to quit, take me home
I admit this isn't for me
but this would be the part where I say my rant is a joke
I'm only blowing smoke
yet the smoke in the air is the only one I'm choking on
In a lie, I'm alive and kicking
breathing in success, pouring out excess sweat
I'm a champion, capable of superhuman feats
jumping 20 feet from buildings onto concrete
without the bones in my knees breaking skin
In a lie, I'm at home where I am
but in truth, work always make me absolutely miserable
No matter the good company I seem to attract
the good company I keep
I always find myself perched upon something
surveying the scene laying out in front of me
staring out at the many faces, my eyes becoming microscopes
to study, to observe, research the people walking among me
and at times it terrifies me
Am I a villain, a criminal or have the tendencies of the obscene
for I know the lengths, limitations, boundaries
I won't nor never dare cross
but this story has been done before so it seems, so I believe
I'm not sure anymore myself, they all sound the same anyway
THEY ALL SOUND THE SAME? ? ? ! ! ! They all sound the same...
so does that mean I'm the same as everyone else
a selfish protagonist in a fictional story
I'm not feeling it, feeling this
I'm finding more things falling apart at my touch
than finding a way to the finish line
I'm finding more reasons to say:
'Life is tragic, I'm not having it'
than I'm able to exclaim with magnificence
'Life is magic, I'm enamored with it
let the new days roll, flow with ever-radiating elegance and good fortune'
If only I was trapped in the age of lords and kings
then maybe my vernacular, my verbal accompaniment
would resound that of true mesmerizing exuberance
instead of declining like that of a slow cascading snail
down a window sill; slow like a sloth, slow like a turtle
I envy you turtle, your home is mobile
while I have yet to discover mine
I envy you universe
you question nothing, answer nothing; all you are is what you are
There's no self discovery to explore
whereas anchored to my feet are the boots equal to weighted steel
as I try to discover the parts of my own universe
discover my own components that make me who I am
to find out of this is who I'm meant to be
or just decayed remnants of a falling star