when i write, i’m not me i’m a wave of endless thoughts i’m a string of excited words when i write, i’m not me my brain ceases with time my hands bloom to life your world comes to a stop my world rotates twice as fast my heart beats faster my pulse beeps slower when i write, i’m not me my eyes listen to every scribble my ears feel every birthed word when i write, i’m not me
i don’t exist at that moment
’till i stop writing
we once lived in two separate worlds yet we walked on the same earth we fed on contrasting meals from mud touched by common hands we drunk different water fetched from a single stream I loved how you described it all nothing for my brain to fathom I now see it, I finally can feel it cages are beautiful from outside
maybe we’d be happier if we listened to our bodies why do we break our own hearts then shift the blame to others? maybe it’s because we never listen the unending anxiety on bad dates the rumbling stomach on good days we ignore all the signs and stay hugging tight onto hope regrets will always be painful unless you learn to talk with self no one understands you better no one should love you more your body will always speak all you need to do is listen
It’s impossible to lie to the moon she’s calm and patient I stare directly into her eyes she listens to every word in silence she lets me expose my true soul in the dark she forgives and gives a second chance
It is easy to lie to the sun her rage boils up like fire lack of eye contact breaks our bond her pride surpasses her strength I always cover my true self with shelters I hide indoors during the day
if you could paint your personality would it be bright and lively or dull and dead would it speak loud with no shame or would it sit stiff and deaf would you do it on canvas or ancient and rare paper would you buy expensive oil or get plain charcoal if your personality was pure art would any of these really matter?