I’m looking for your answer.
I want to grab it, strangle it,
manipulate it in my hands,
tear it out of the air
Force it into paper
And make it your answer.
Until it reaches into your brain
but pulls out your heart instead.
I want it to be beautiful,
I want it to be intricate
fashioned into words so descriptive
They give you tears of empathy.
I want it to smear into pictures
conveying your answer.
Because I am not your answer.
I will never be your answer despite
How much I wish I was,
How long I keep pretending.
As the breeze twists through the sky,
I reach up and I grasp
My fingertips tremble like
They are trying to reach to space.
I yearn for it to solidify
in my palms, but it doesn’t.
I can’t find your answer.
I can’t protect you,
I won’t.

It’s funny how I’ve tried so hard
to find your answer
when really I was looking for mine.
It comes to me like a cold shower,
like the morning sun in a window.
It’s wrapped up neatly in a thin box
But I decide I don’t want it.
I want it concealed, hidden away
With lost thoughts collecting dust.
Why can’t it leave me alone?
No more days where I am oblivious
Days when I thought I was sufficient
Maybe not now, tomorrow I said.
But I hear not tomorrow today.
After realizing it’s a facade
It’s not real, not permanent
I would rather live in the fairytale.
It’s hard. It’s like chalkboard nails,
It’s not music.
It’s not paint.
It’s not literature that takes you
Somewhere else and whispers
sweet nothings into your ear.
It’s me before you,
It’s reality.
Yet, somehow, I can’t believe it.