You say what I read is
****
You say I need to get
The best education I should have.
Thank you auntie the great
And terrible.
I hate your efforts,
But I know you're trying to help me
To get farther.
Than I can reach on my own.
Thank you auntie
My great but terrible
Auntie.

Yeah you said you
Couldn't make it,
But a tiny sliver of hope in my heart
Festered itself down in the cardiac
Muscle and I thought
For one second,
You might open the door with a
Dramatic
Whoosh
And walk right in.
And is stop performing
Just so you could take a seat,
Then is continue.
But you missed it.
You weren't there.
And the sliver shattered into a tiny
Splinters that I now have to pick
Out with some tweezers
Because you weren't there.
You didn't hear the words I sang to the
Crowd
The tune I played to the audience,
That I dedicated to you.
Nope,
You weren't there.

Cut this
Keep that.
This is clutter.
This so good.
reword this.
I felt you here.
This is awkward
This is powerful.
I'm being pulled in a tug of war between good and bad.
And sometimes I want to give up.
But I can't.
My piece must be as beautiful
As blown glass.
And even if I die getting there.
It will work.

Some days it want to crawl in a
Corner and die
Of crying too much.
Some days I want to think
That the world does not exist around
Me
And that my heartbeat is
My heartbeat that beats
Like a free eagle in the sky.
Alone.
Some days I want to listen to my own thoughts
And say nothing to no one
Because I'm listening to my head
Phones and not saying nothing
To no one.
And I'm alone
In isolation.
Some days
I want to be alone,
Listening to myself
And wondering if the world
Exists.

I thought you were taken,
As one of the only paintings in
My house.
I should not be the one to take you,
Even though you are very nice and
Friendly to me.
I'm going back to the museum
And I wanted to know if you
Wanted to come again.
I'll make interesting comments
About life and art like last time,
And stomp my feet when I see
The parking garage next to the garden
Of Rodin's statues.
Yes, I'm going back to the museum
Because I need to write,
And I need to be inspired.
So mr. Painting, would you like to come?
I don't want to just stare at you on the wall you're hanging on.
I'm not in the museum yet.
But as an artist I see art all around me,
So maybe I really am
In a museum.
But you're not an exhibit,
Not you're a person,
A friend,
My friend.
An artist.

I see their eyes,
Wide open
Months as open as tea trays.
Fish, lots and lots of fish.
Sharks, rays, tuna, jellyfish, octopus.
All in different tanks,
Sleeping, eating, swimming.
But what if we are nothing but just
Another school of fish,
More advanced
Sleeping, eating, swimming.
Different types of people:
Tall, short, thin, fat, extrovert, introvert,
So really fish are watching fish.
Where is the sense in that?