I have a gift
She aint no stranger, Though i am to her
I think she deserves it
Maybe even worth it
Frost had once said
The end might be fire or ice
I'd lose but I still bet
My love without you would suffice

This girl doesn't care that it's August. She will wear her snow boots because she likes that they light up.

This girl doesn't care there is no music. She will dance where she wants to the music in her mind.

She doesn't care who is watching. Or who disapproves.

I wish to be more like her.
I wish more were like her.

I hope no one stifles it out of her.

No, "Sit still"
No, "Calm down"
No, "Be embarrassed"

Be you.
Be like her if you're inclined to.
Be a dancer in the street.

Why are we in a hurry?
and there is so much to worry...
When everything has already been there
And we just live it through
About the choices we care
About the moments of me and you

Why are we in a hurry?
And there is so much to bother
When the book was published long ago
And we just read it through
About the different chapters
About the ends and beginnings like the pages are new

Why are we in a hurry?
And there is so much to achieve
When the doubt is you believe
And we just cry it through
About the facts and decisions
About the lies and what is true

Why are we in a hurry?
And there is so much at stake
When the dark nights are awake
And we just count it through
About the minutes and seconds
Hack the system of life just to pretend

Wrath of my actions despises me
Path in which the expansion of destiny
Has happened
An arrow has pierced through the armour
Covering the vision of my enemy
My friend

Me? Not who you really foresee
Futuristic probationary
It is destructive but creative
Till it rock bottoms the reality
Surviving in the shadows of my self contemporary

Seeking redemption through rage
But it does no help at this stage
Will this be narrated elsewhere
The same story of failure in return
In a different story. Different page?

Discombobulation
   Snuffing out my insight
   Stings of uncertainty clouding my mind
   The acidic taste of bitter gasoline rest on my tongue  
The scent of brewed turmoil, The sound of whats? And questions ringing in the smoky air

I said..

Look at the person who reads a strangers book
He wants to know the character but avoids recognition