I wish that I could show my feelings
through more than just
shallow,
pointless
lies
and the false statements that my mouth proclaims
that don’t matter.

The story my eyes are screaming,
breaking through the walls of an unsharpened pencil
into the words on cheap paper,
and baring myself to the world
through the songs my heart sings
when my fingers brush across the skin
of another,
more intricate
individual.

And the exhalation of smoke from my tired lungs
explains much more than my mind
could ever force
my mouth to
spill.