They have
An Exclamation Point
how can we beat that.

I feel the words I write mean less and less each day.
They blend together and confuse the reader,
Muddle the flow,
As each thought forms a current and pushes in its own direction.
And at this point...
I'm being torn apart.

You say you're not good at art
but I've seen you create things
on your hardest days
and it's a masterpiece
knowing that the world is still so bright to you
Even at its darkest
And you are darling in the way
That you try to pick something
You love about yourself each day
Because you know great artworks
Aren't always beautiful as a whole

I don't see myself in you
i'm jealous to say
I see such greatness
well a better level of mediocrity
at any rate
so what's your secret
tell me
show me
how not to be me.

not out loud
obviously
but I would think it
possibly even whisper it
in a private place.