we present ourselves as perfect manuscripts
nobody sees the crumpled rough drafts and messy handwriting
scattered around the bedroom carpet at home.

nobody has seen the way i've
scratched out parts of myself
that didn't fit into the high school mold
then the parts that didn't fit into my suitcase when i moved away from home

nobody has seen the revisions i've made
do i sound too formal, am i too quiet, do i need to be a little bit funnier in order to be considered acceptable art?

i've thrown entire scenes of my life into the trash
because i don't want anybody to see them and i am ashamed

i sit for hours staring at blank pages wondering how anyone could ever find me interesting enough to spend time with

do you ever feel that way, too?

It was late afternoon
when the moon peeked through my window
as soon as the night went in to full bloom
there were a pool of stars
encapsulating my vision
I saw two pairs of spoon
crisscrossed up in the sky
and thought of you.

He only comes at night.
He lurks in the shadows
He hates the light.
He came in silently.
Stealth is one of his expertise
though that doesn't work with me.
I can see your future.
I know of your past.
Time is in my hands.
Visions are mine to keep.
Now bow down to me.

I find myself always thinking about you.
You and I face to face.
There are days when I want you to go away.
My chest tingles.
But you have left a deep impression in my soul.
My heart yearns.
And now I don't know how to feel about you.