When I lay on my bed all day
Listening to a Paper Kites playlist
You'll know that I don't give a shit anymore
When I stare at the celing or the view of the balcony
Just don't try and knock on my door
I don't care if you care...
I don't care if you don't...
I don't need anything
From you or your soul
If I write it down
Maybe I'll stop thinking about you
And all the things
I wish I knew.
The names I would've called you
The nicknames you called me
Our talks of foreign films and ghosts
And your love of 1960s.
It's too far now
It's been a month since we spoke
And we could've had what we wanted
If I didn't need to know.
You say you know me,
But you don’t know me because you tried,
You know me because I made myself known.
You only know my favorite flowers are lilacs because
I’d make you stop your truck so I could pick them off of strangers’ yards
You only know my favorite color is yellow because
I’d pick up yellow paint shades every time you dragged me to Lowe’s
You only know I love the smell of cigarettes and coffee because
I’d breathe in deeply the combination of their aromas,
With a Marlboro on one hand and a frappe on the other.
And anything that I cannot show you
You cannot know, because
You cannot look into my eyes and
See what lies behind them.
You say you know me, but
Do you really?
Tell me where you're coming from so I can write you off
Then I will put a question mark in place of what you thought
The Darkness brings the sleepyheads together in the night
But only those who know the sun will wake up to its Light
I wasn't even listening to anything you've said
I thought you would've noticed I was every kind of dead
I guess the people talking now can do it in their sleep
And force the words to leave their mouths, developed tendencies
But somewhere in the time it took for me to move my lips
I took a breath and let it out before it even clicked
They say not to judge a book by it's cover.
But we continue to judge and assume so many things about people and forget that reading the pages is more important than the artwork.
And although the art can be beautiful and take your eyes on a journey like no other
what is the point of wanting to understand the painting if you never know the meaning behind it?
What is the point?
We continue to point fingers and label the ones who may do things different than us and we assume that someone is different because of the way they speak or act or dress
but we all have the same skeleton underneath our skin and we all look the same without our flesh and veins so why do we continue to judge?
You don't know anything about a stranger by looking at them.
How can you know them?
You are not weight or a number or a sexuality or a percentage.
You are the books you read and the places you have been and will go.
You are the music you cry listening to and the relationships you make and so much more.
You know you.
They do not.
I cannot see the temple I was given long ago
Was buried through the winter then it melted with the snow
But every single summer when the earth receives the rain
I let myself believe I can be falling with its pain
Collected are the fragments of the person I have been
The water that belongs inside my coriander skin
The scent is something stronger than my memory recalls
But what is more familiar now that I can feel at all
Wherever there are bridges there my body also be
Above the rivers running while containing all of me
I've moved with all the seasons but I always end up here
Between the world that knew me and the place I disappear