I want to burn the insides,
Smoke out the pain of the third time.
If this is what it takes to find my place,
I don’t know if I can go on.
As long as its always you and never me,
I’ll be fine, maybe just skip a beat.

I’m sorry I left my fingerprints,
I feel like I stole color from your painting.
But I still want to visit the museum,
I don’t care the price or the length of line.
I don’t mind the reconstruction time.

I can’t let go without rejecting part of me or emptying my dreams.
My soul won’t let me feel right if I drop hope.
So I’ll stay home and keep writing my poems,
Until I know the museum is open, ready for tentative visitation and revitalization.