I strongly dislike the way I talk

And the way I have a lisp.

I strongly dislike the way I can’t drive,

And I disklike I can’t eat shrimp.

I strongly dislike that my feet are way too big

And the way bounce when I walk.

I strongly dislike myself to the point of starvation,

Although I’m not much skinnier, not at all.

I dislike how I’m never right,

I dislike when I lie.

I strongly dislike the way I laugh,

Even worse is how I cry.

I dislike when nobody is around

And the fact I always feel alone.

But mostly, I strongly dislike how I shouldn’t dislike myself,

Not close, or even a little bit at all.

As flowers and dirt covers
the cautious ground
A long lure of leafy gray

Clear nectar runs into the water
Running down the mountain and
To the end of the river

𝙷𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚍
𝙷𝚘𝚠 𝚜𝚊𝚍  𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚟𝚘𝚒𝚌𝚎 𝚜𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚜  

𝚆𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞'𝚛𝚎 𝚌𝚛𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚊𝚗
𝙰𝚋𝚞𝚜𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚑𝚞𝚖𝚊𝚗 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚒𝚛 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎?

𝙸 𝚠𝚒𝚜𝚑 𝙸 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍
𝚜 𝚖 𝚒 𝚕 𝚎
𝙴𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝙸 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚕 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎
𝚍 𝚢 𝚒 𝚗 𝚐

Under your porcelain eyes,

there is nothing but an empty cracked mind

History likes to repeat itself
But sometimes it likes to change
The curve in the river
Will start going straight
And the walls on the castle
Are now crumbling down

But then a new river is formed
And a new wall is built
And history starts all over again

Maybe it does repeat itself

"I love you"

I know.

"Do you love me too?"

No.

ɪғ ɪ'ᴍ ᴀʟᴏɴᴇ
ʜᴏᴡ ᴄᴏᴍᴇ ɪ ᴄᴀɴ ғᴇᴇʟ
ᴛʜᴏᴜsᴀɴᴅs  
ᴜᴘᴏɴ ᴛʜᴏᴜsᴀɴᴅs  
ᴏғ ʜᴀɴᴅs
ᴘᴜsʜɪɴɢ ᴏɴ ᴍᴇ
ғʀᴏᴍ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏ ᴅɪʀᴇᴄᴛɪᴏɴ

Van Gogh’s The Starry Night
Is full of color and fright

It gives you the rush of a feeling,
The rush of no return
You can see where the mind split and fell
Through the cracks of the earth

The indigo lines and the yellow circles
Van Gogh’s The Starry Night

I'm nothing more than a
little frog
sitting on a lilypad, listening to
hippie music

When I heard my name
being called past the
darkness

I also heard my name
being called to the
light

After all is said and done

The microwave is still running

ɪ ᴡɪsʜ ɪ ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅ ᴛᴏᴜᴄʜ ʏᴏᴜ
ʙᴜᴛ ʏᴏᴜ'ʀᴇ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴏғ  
ᴍʏ ʀᴇᴀᴄʜ  

sᴏ ғᴀʀ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴏғ ᴍʏ ʀᴇᴀᴄʜ
"ɪ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ʏᴏᴜ"
ʏᴏᴜ sʜᴏᴜʟᴅɴ'ᴛ

Behind a van
Off a lit-up city street
Two dying forces meet
To read the drowning words of
Faceless man

View the world like its Napoleon
It’s average length but seems
Short

I remember, once,
In my childhood home
There was a mean young man
Whose house was across from mine
He had no children to call his own
But five really mean dogs who
Like to give me a barking fright
My mother grew weary of their mean accusations,
So we moved, to a land far far away

I remember, once,
In my grandparents home
There was a girl my age
Whose house was down the street from mine
She had two siblings,
One young and one old
But she still treated us all the same,
A happy smile on her face
She was my best friend for only a year
Her only causality is she didn't move with me

I remember, once,
In our brand new home,
How I knew nobody there, not a soul
I was the new kid, over five years ago
And it's never left me
Since I was twelve years old
I made friends, lost friends, dated a whole bunch
But my happiness was never
Up to code
Never up to standard

“What’s mine is yours.”
The lie melted off your tongue without remorse
The hook of your words draws people in
Only to recast them out once more
You infiltrate the borders of their walls
And tell them
“What’s mine is yours.”

sᴘᴀᴄᴇ ɪs sᴏ ɪᴍᴍᴇɴsᴇ
ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀʟʟ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘʟᴀɴᴇᴛs  
ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ sᴛᴀʀs  

ʙᴜᴛ ʀɪɢʜᴛ ʜᴇʀᴇ,
ʀɪɢʜᴛ ɴᴏᴡ ᴏɴ ᴇᴀʀᴛʜ
ɪᴛ's ᴊᴜsᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀɴᴅ ᴍᴇ
ᴡᴀᴛᴄʜɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇ sʜᴏᴏᴛɪɴɢ sᴛᴀʀs

Space is supposed to be bigger
Than the mind can comprehend
Right?

So why do I see it in your eyes?

Would Napoleon be so well known

If his name was Adam?

Would DaVinci be so well known

If his last name was Smith?

Does a name really make up a person?

Or does a person make a name great?

I miss when you used to be mine

I now catch myself wishing
I was yours

Cherry wished her dear Dee would see her color
The falling shades of leafy green
The hints of pink that people love to reach for
She hoped for a small moment of feeling
Between Cherry and her dear Dee