This cat has a tongue that sticks out
From behind sharp teeth does it sprout
She hasn’t a care
How we all stare
We’ll never know what it’s about

A face,
That’s what I see.
Is the face you show to me,
The same or different than others see?

The apple of your parent’s eye
A paragon of duty.
No bar of perfection is too high
For you, an undeniable beauty.

Never do a single thing wrong
At least where prying eyes can see.
All the thoughts that don’t belong
No one knows but me and thee.

Your face,
The one you show to them,
Isn’t the one you show to me.

How many others think they know you?
But only a projection do they see.
Versions aplenty, if only they knew
How contradictory you appear to be.

No substance, composed of nothing
defined by what others want to see.
Fawning over you, loving and gushing
Without foundation is their glee.

Your face,
The one you show to me,
Is it really you, or just what I want to see?

Am I special because I know your secret?
Or maybe I don’t know my place.
Have you shown me the whole you,
Or just another face?

Are there versions you haven’t shown?
How many ways can you divide?
How many contradictions
Can your soul abide?

What is real? What is not?
Two sides of the same coin I have fought.
Waking happy. Waking sad.
Who’s to say what’s good or bad.
Two people walk inside of me.
Coexist they cannot be.
One sees hope. Dreams fly free.
One sees nothing. Lost at sea.
Who will win? Who will rot?
Which is true? Which is not?
I think it’s a choice, which one has voice.
Which one will I choose?

Flip the coin. Comes up tails.
Numbing doldrums deflate the sails.
Flip again. Comes up heads.
Refreshing breeze blows against the threads.
They don’t exist, but both are true
And both are wrong, through and through.

People matter, people don’t.
I don’t care, I know I won’t.
One day here and one day not.
In the end we come to naught.
Only others provide me breath to live.
I don’t know what else to give.

A useless vision. A hopeless dream.
Can I move on without the gleam.
Nothing to stand on. Nothing to hold.
No hand to guide. Alone all told.

It came up tails. Of course it did.
Do I flip the coin again?
Even if it comes up heads,
Will a tails I read instead?

Once upon a time I could do no wrong:
Following the rules was my only song.
Truth be told I had no choice,
Inside of me there was no voice.

Fear gripped my soul when entered my mind
Some offensive thought that was not aligned
To what I’d been taught was good or right.
To me the world was black and white.

I could not feel not hate nor rage
To any bad thoughts I gave no stage
But with this cage I received a wage
I could not feel anything at all.

Not peace, nor friendship, nor love.

But now …

I let all thoughts dwell inside of me.
I can act. I can move. I can stretch my wings.
Power courses through my veins,
And I know I can do great things.

But now the distance between man and monster
Is not so distant as once it seemed.
If the cudgel of life comes beating down,
What kind of person will I become?

In the end I will know I made a choice.
I made a choice to have a choice.
Extraordinary things I can do,
But now they can be both terrible and great.

It was so much easier when I had no will.

It’s time to be the martyr.  
It’s time to be the saint.  
It’s time to be the Pelican,
And with your own blood paint.

It’s time to be the hero.  
It’s time to be the fool.  
It’s time to be the offering,
To all your silly rules.

It’s time to give up joy.  
It’s time to swallow dirt.  
It’s time to live alone,
And die, and choke, and hurt.

I am a god
I create
Nothing
Into something

I see value when it isn’t there
Visions of happiness but it’s just thin air
Loving people that don’t really care
A meaningful life but it’s just a prayer.

Structure that came from noise
Is that all life is?

Maskne, acne
Neither make me happy
Am I a teenager once again?
Oh God, no!  Not my skin.

Pimples galore
Like nothing before
They even wake me in the night
And give me such a terrible fright.

Insecurities I have fought
Cleansing creams I have bought
While some days I wish I was young
Praises to pimples should never be sung