(no subject)
sometimes you have to give up and surrender defeat.
i surrender to a great talent. i would like to believe
and know within myself, that i was the one that had the first spark,
that i passed on.
maybe im just better at giving people the spark
as i continue to stay grey. its like a game of hot potato, but it stays in one set of hands that aren't my own..
i know my place. i understand where i am to fit in. i am there to fill a gap, a stand-in to every moment. i step aside, step aside and let those fit
pass me by.
but this leaves me empty handed, as my high hope
and summer dream drizzle out of the air.
where do i go next?
to write? TO WRITE??
To write.
it'll be like leaving a trace of booger-y tissues from a runny nose.
little stanza here. some girl. some boy.
intro straight to your gut: she hates…
additional paragraphs of the feeling of lonesome.
fragments of dialog, without quotation.
i will make no great work of art. i will make moments and speak
half-truths.
maybe ill have my pretty birdcages to display and you can come close and feel the magic they make you feel.
she haunts me in my wake
she haunts me in my dreams
round eyes and freckled skin
follow me dead
her essence lingers in corners
too dusty for me to clean
faded inks and faded fonts
take a space ill never claim
i shut her up, i shut her out
my heart can only but pound
at your chest and at your feet
you don't listen, you don't see
she said she wont come visit
but more than little do i know
she's not going anywhere
until i am full and grown
punch me once
punch me twice
i surrender to a great talent. i would like to believe
and know within myself, that i was the one that had the first spark,
that i passed on.
maybe im just better at giving people the spark
as i continue to stay grey. its like a game of hot potato, but it stays in one set of hands that aren't my own..
i know my place. i understand where i am to fit in. i am there to fill a gap, a stand-in to every moment. i step aside, step aside and let those fit
pass me by.
but this leaves me empty handed, as my high hope
and summer dream drizzle out of the air.
where do i go next?
to write? TO WRITE??
To write.
it'll be like leaving a trace of booger-y tissues from a runny nose.
little stanza here. some girl. some boy.
intro straight to your gut: she hates…
additional paragraphs of the feeling of lonesome.
fragments of dialog, without quotation.
i will make no great work of art. i will make moments and speak
half-truths.
maybe ill have my pretty birdcages to display and you can come close and feel the magic they make you feel.
she haunts me in my wake
she haunts me in my dreams
round eyes and freckled skin
follow me dead
her essence lingers in corners
too dusty for me to clean
faded inks and faded fonts
take a space ill never claim
i shut her up, i shut her out
my heart can only but pound
at your chest and at your feet
you don't listen, you don't see
she said she wont come visit
but more than little do i know
she's not going anywhere
until i am full and grown
punch me once
punch me twice