Please, please stop yelling. My head is too filled up with noise and darkness for me to even hear you Every ******* day, I have to wake up and smile, pull on my mask and sprinkle the light into my eyes, and you expect me to Recognize your ideas that push me further into the closet, hiding behind the dresses and scarves and makeup and shirts and shoes and tights and jackets and hats and Fucking costumes that I use to fit your vision. To pretend that things are in the past, and that Everything that is wrong has been fixed. That my broken soul is sewn back together, and I no longer have a gaping whole inside of me. Come on, do you really think that what I'm saying are my true words? T**hat this façade that I glide through life in is me? Because this person, this PERFECT persona that I place on myself is my shield, and one day, it's going to break
Slam poetry idea. I'm getting a head start on things this year, still have about six or seven months till the competition, so lots of time to churn out pieces.