The worst part is that you’ll spend most of your time dreaming about how perfect you’ll finally feel when you can correctly and perfectly demonstrate how you are on the inside, on the outside. And you know, just know, that when you finally are that damn good someone else will see, and know how good you are too. Everyone will see you across the paintings, the pictures, the published pieces and celebrate how marvelous and clever it was. The hardest part though, is when you get there all of the answers and secrets within you are laid out in a collection and you know you’ve finally done it, and it’s only you. It was always only you who completely knew it was good. And no one else is really paying any attention. You become unnerved, unsure, you stop trusting yourself and what you thought to be true. You stop trusting any one else who says what you did wasn’t exactly right.
And you’re going to have to decide, if pulling every once of something you have within you is really what you want? Or did you just want to dream up a pretty way to be loved?
I could have used a
in my smalling, pink youth
A fire for my secrets
So to break open, popping, livening
For their quietus
Whisper all the things you needed to hear
to me now
I was ready for the truth,
and I was young for it.
Hands white and clean and shivering at the thought.
To my curious eyes, steadying sin, growing fever with every sunsets’ exhibition
I danced with a rhythm to
the memory of my stories hits, and misses
and the moon sealed the ugly peices in silver pretty color at night
New tears which had a distinct hug in the way they grab my gleaming cheeks
and feel home in it
I have a heart to love with now
and a heart I love too
Nothing else I could want with a name
I know something with all my soul and color
if Heaven is what it is not to have to Wonder
I have everything