we said we wanted to be painters, and we wanted to paint the world as we see it,but we can’t paint worth **** and then we wanted to write because we needed someone to understand but no one under stood the words we uttered so in printed words it  dissipated because they didnt seem legit, and we said we wanted to live as artist, and we wanted to the world to be  our canvas and that we didn’t want anyone to tell us a thing. We wanted to be in bands who wrote soundless music with bare hands and posted them on sites that only the “great new age.” would download onto their iPads. We were inspired by artist and freelancers and wanted to live there and be there but we ended up nowhere because wherever that world is, doesn’t exist. Our religious parents spoke to live in a certain stance, but we felt awkward between the priers with people with folded hands and closed eyes. So we felt like nothing, and then we were between nothing.

We thought we’ve better abandoned a religion who told us that we could not hold hands under the name of a Man who would in exchanged for our love we had for each othre he would burn our skin over and over in a pit because who were we to fall in love?

We thought we’ll find ourselves in otherworldly gods and goddesses, statues of morphed species, and none of this took us off our feet.  We were floating space cadets and lost souls and people who were messed up in some way or another.

In other words we refused to live for each other, our individual belonged to printed posters, artistic words and longing.

What do we have to give back?