Take me for what I am, Who I was meant to be!
They’d watch me
Watching,
The way I observe contaminated angels in dreams,
and sample going astray,
Lost
Meandering between stage five
and the annual REM sending me spiraling
into the routine;
Ready and wired for electrocution.
Five fingers running through my hair,
glassy eyes glaring into mid air whirlpools
where parallel universes
are mirrors I look into and scream.
Screaming.
Lost in the maze and the foreign sound of my voice Unable catch words.
Where shotguns taste like peanut butter fluff sandwiches.
A backwards record
teaching a collapsing belly Pacifism.
Hoping.
Hoping for expired dreams
and listening to
bathtub splashes,
hoping,
bobbing,
napping,
drowning.
Hoping was half the recipe of my Mr. Yuck.
Crashing into Mr. Yuck
Crashing recklessly on a brown paisley davenport somewhere between stolen Tulips,
wild daffodils and the Farmington steakhouse
serving road kill and Texas toast
I wondered why this woman was population 2,378’s freak show.
This woman is well done and still gaining momentum.
Wild Daffodils this is where I ended and fell half way in stride pleading to break or breathe.
Demanding something to believe in.
So ya here I am out of the moment remembering what is was like when I was 15, I remember the look in people eye's when they watched me. I think they could see the passion burning inside me waiting to overtake waiting to exceed all of the low expecations that had been set in place. I was ticking away and the world around me wasn't sure if they were ready. I'm almost 23 now and I believe as I now breathe!
Watching,
The way I observe contaminated angels in dreams,
and sample going astray,
Lost
Meandering between stage five
and the annual REM sending me spiraling
into the routine;
Ready and wired for electrocution.
Five fingers running through my hair,
glassy eyes glaring into mid air whirlpools
where parallel universes
are mirrors I look into and scream.
Screaming.
Lost in the maze and the foreign sound of my voice Unable catch words.
Where shotguns taste like peanut butter fluff sandwiches.
A backwards record
teaching a collapsing belly Pacifism.
Hoping.
Hoping for expired dreams
and listening to
bathtub splashes,
hoping,
bobbing,
napping,
drowning.
Hoping was half the recipe of my Mr. Yuck.
Crashing into Mr. Yuck
Crashing recklessly on a brown paisley davenport somewhere between stolen Tulips,
wild daffodils and the Farmington steakhouse
serving road kill and Texas toast
I wondered why this woman was population 2,378’s freak show.
This woman is well done and still gaining momentum.
Wild Daffodils this is where I ended and fell half way in stride pleading to break or breathe.
Demanding something to believe in.
So ya here I am out of the moment remembering what is was like when I was 15, I remember the look in people eye's when they watched me. I think they could see the passion burning inside me waiting to overtake waiting to exceed all of the low expecations that had been set in place. I was ticking away and the world around me wasn't sure if they were ready. I'm almost 23 now and I believe as I now breathe!