I only exist
In the words that I write.
I gleefully skip from line to line,
Basking in the glory
Of momentary inspiration.
I slide carefully from key to key,
Drinking in the soft taps of the keyboard,
Manifesting my way
Into the hearts of all people everywhere.
I crave a stage, a crowd, a platform,
A place to immortalize myself,
To form an identity clean of sin,
To raise a new, sanitized, beating heart
From the ashes to the spotlight.
I wish for my name
To sweep the world off its feet,
To be shouted, or whispered,
Or chanted, or cheered.
I desperately want to be someone,
To be known, and loved,
And adapted to the needs of the watcher.
I dream of being consumed, and approved,
And loved, and needed,
So incredibly needed
That I might just allow myself
To exist either way.