Slam Poetry final draft

Life isn’t real.
Why do we live in this incessant world?
I feel dejected, rejected, but my thoughts projected and I’ll tell you why I can’t grasp the gravity of the reality I’ve known the course of one too little times.
Science says that it’s a 50/50 chance we live in this world controlled by people in parallel universes.
If the chances that we are being controlled by aliens are that legitimate, who’s to say the way I think is wrong?
But how can everyone be so serene except me?
So pitch perfect and not like a braindead freak?
Why am I the one looped in this mind consuming thought process leaving me lying on my back feeling deserted in this voyage of life?
It aggravates me everytime I look at everyone dolled up and in the zone about life but I am not.
The aroma of melancholy taunts my wellbeing day by day as I think about this.
I’ll concede the fact that I do not always think this and life elates me a lot.
However, if someone gives everyone a box of chocolates and everyone’s box is different, you’re going to inevitably wonder why you got that box of chocolates but still be grateful right?
If no one has a true proven answer, it’s going to leave people in a state of confusion right?
It’ll be odd but you’ll still eat them happily right?
Tell me, you’re grateful for your box of chocolates right?
Right?
I am. I am filled with gratitude that I got everything I have.
However I stand below the feet of God touching the quaking ground wondering why he gave me what I have?
Why do I have the mind of a freak and the skin of a homosapien who doesn't feel right?
Why sometimes I just wanna backflip off the roof of this building on sight?
Always getting the cold shoulder because life stands in my way like a boulder but you don't bother having the answers so I get shoved aside, my heart getting colder.
And tell me, why don't my chocolates look that alike to anyone else's except for the bare minimum?
But no, that’s not the only thing that sparks confusion in my spinning mind.
Why does outer space have no sound, were our developers just that considerate and kind?
Or the way a car doesn’t fit your arm span but a bus can and it fits in the same driving line?
Tell me, who’s to dictate the way I think and to say I’m wrong just because my thoughts don’t abide?
It’s even hard to believe how we can never truly relive an exact moment twice.
So wouldn't everything be considered one of a kind?
There are infinite amounts of parallel universes and we are 1 out of infinity.
What’s the chance that we are the true real ones? Research says it’s undefined.
“It’s not impossible to solve if nothing is real.” I’d like to see you try.
The equation 1 out of infinity is impossible so who is to say it’s wrong to say us being real is most likely impossible?
I can injure myself right now and no one's stopping me except myself.
What if I punched my partner in the face?
Tell me, is this how you want your youth to think?
Disassociating from the very reality you brought them to?
What if maybe just maybe, when I watch the sun kiss my skin every day as I slave myself to school for 7 hours straight, eat, sleep, play, and repeat, it was all just a fantasy made by the developers that control our movement every step of the way like a young girl playing with dolls?
What if I was that young girl and someone from another life was being controlled by me, a monster of a being?
Will they ever know? Will I ever know? Or will all of the answers lie within death?
As I lie by my living room walls, salty, tasteful tears streaming down my face, pondering if life is real, I just want to know.
If someone has the daring enterprise to prove we aren't real, will the computer turn off?
Please, understand how we feel.
Life isn’t real.
Why do we live in this incessant world?
I feel dejected, rejected, but my thoughts projected and I’ll tell you why I can’t grasp the gravity of the reality I’ve known the course of one too little times.
Science says that it’s a 50/50 chance we live in this world controlled by people in parallel universes.
If the chances that we are being controlled by aliens are that legitimate, who’s to say the way I think is wrong?
But how can everyone be so serene except me?
So pitch perfect and not like a braindead freak?
Why am I the one looped in this mind consuming thought process leaving me lying on my back feeling deserted in this voyage of life?
It aggravates me everytime I look at everyone dolled up and in the zone about life but I am not.
The aroma of melancholy taunts my wellbeing day by day as I think about this.
I’ll concede the fact that I do not always think this and life elates me a lot.
However, if someone gives everyone a box of chocolates and everyone’s box is different, you’re going to inevitably wonder why you got that box of chocolates but still be grateful right?
If no one has a true proven answer, it’s going to leave people in a state of confusion right?
It’ll be odd but you’ll still eat them happily right?
Tell me, you’re grateful for your box of chocolates right?
Right?
I am. I am filled with gratitude that I got everything I have.
However I stand below the feet of God touching the quaking ground wondering why he gave me what I have?
Why do I have the mind of a freak and the skin of a homosapien who doesn't feel right?
Why sometimes I just wanna backflip off the roof of this building on sight?
Always getting the cold shoulder because life stands in my way like a boulder but you don't bother having the answers so I get shoved aside, my heart getting colder.
And tell me, why don't my chocolates look that alike to anyone else's except for the bare minimum?
But no, that’s not the only thing that sparks confusion in my spinning mind.
Why does outer space have no sound, were our developers just that considerate and kind?
Or the way a car doesn’t fit your arm span but a bus can and it fits in the same driving line?
Tell me, who’s to dictate the way I think and to say I’m wrong just because my thoughts don’t abide?
It’s even hard to believe how we can never truly relive an exact moment twice.
So wouldn't everything be considered one of a kind?
There are infinite amounts of parallel universes and we are 1 out of infinity.
What’s the chance that we are the true real ones? Research says it’s undefined.
“It’s not impossible to solve if nothing is real.” I’d like to see you try.
The equation 1 out of infinity is impossible so who is to say it’s wrong to say us being real is most likely impossible?
I can injure myself right now and no one's stopping me except myself.
What if I punched my partner in the face?
Tell me, is this how you want your youth to think?
Disassociating from the very reality you brought them to?
What if maybe just maybe, when I watch the sun kiss my skin every day as I slave myself to school for 7 hours straight, eat, sleep, play, and repeat, it was all just a fantasy made by the developers that control our movement every step of the way like a young girl playing with dolls?
What if I was that young girl and someone from another life was being controlled by me, a monster of a being?
Will they ever know? Will I ever know? Or will all of the answers lie within death?
As I lie by my living room walls, salty, tasteful tears streaming down my face, pondering if life is real, I just want to know.
If someone has the daring enterprise to prove we aren't real, will the computer turn off?
Please, understand how we feel

I have to present this on thursday ????