I want to take everything I've learned and then form it into words and everyday I'll change and tweak, arrage the letters too true to speak. but i feel more like a caterpiller crawling to the new day that is dawning in search of a branch worth something so complex as its only chance to make a cacoon. let fear ensue. i'm afraid i have rushed it and emerged too soon. i find it is not quite a flight i've opened up to, and they aren't quite wings but they'll do.
the truth?
its not a rose from the tennis court crack but it grows next to the broken beer bottle that is not quite a diamond but still sparkles in the sun. and even if it's forced, it's still a smile at it's worst-- making itself the truth when the day is done.
so what are you saying?
bask long enough in deceit and soon it will seem less like defeat and more like something you chose on your own. so maybe it's not the cookie cutter image shining on display, but who am I to say you can't grow to love. at the end of the day it still awaits. sad little place you call home. believe your thoughts. you are just a well put together mess at its best.