**** you, your red hair burned my mask
And I'm here as I just bask
At the way I am exactly
The never ending same old me

Overthinking every message
Dissociating every passage
Of time, losing slowly this here mine
Mind and clarity and reason
Autumn is your favourite season
Funny, it started with a rainstorm
Getting my boat off track the shore
I was moving to, **** you
And your fire eyes
They are brown most of the time
But become forests when they cry
Which is often but not too much
The eyelashes are a premium touch
That you cannot afford to lose.

I'm hearing warcries up in here
I'm angry and I can't see clear
Ahead, I think and worry and obsess
Of when you'll answers, make a mess
Of this sense of self I built,
Why don't I just
Allow disgust
Of this old self
Become forgiveness and let it tell
A new story?

One where independency
Freedom and creativity
Some good ol individuality
Let themselves be as they are
And I dont force them to make a scar
On my self, shoulders and back
And get myself tattered and cracked
Over nothing,
Where poetry becomes morphine
What do you mean what do I mean?
It's used potently for numbing.
One where I am and I don't judge
And have some faith and have some trust
And have attraction and have lust
And have virtues and have values
And I talk openly about it
And I don't feel inadequate
Or making myself celibate
Or don't let myself create
Or forget to ask for help
Or I choose to have a friend
Not a promise with no end
Or a game of play-pretend
With myself or with the shelf
Of books I have already read
On how I can just be myself.
In this moment I make them malice,
I have the knowledge but need practice,
Get into my life some mileage
When it comes to discovering
This weird perverse confusing thing
Some others seem to call living.

I don't really know what's next
But I am anchored in myself.
And live life as I can tell
Best for myself.
_M.