I left the good ones in the bag that I packed
and left with a long time ago
blinded by expressionism and confessionalism
a portrait hung on my wall for so long
I dream in blue and earthy scents
of that little space between hinder and breath
society placed a big burden upon my chest
it whispers so many funny and true things
dire to my belief of originality
and being specific in the things I do
mind like thin lines overlapping in many different hues
I have grown ill in thought of the ordinary people
you see me as flawed hurt and stupid
and I see you as plain boring and mediorce
eyes trail downwards about my sincere actions
and sometimes I must hold my tongue
being that envious eyes would like to eat a lung
my manner gentle and discreet
Im am nothing near the definition of obsolete
and I accept it as I accept that nothing will ever
with misuse be complete
and in a heartbeat I retreat to that creature
who beside me is petite

as I am

feathers of beauty brush against the
slowly moving winds on my shore
and I go back and wonder why everything
so quickly turns into nothing
descending tons of gore
and then fragility comes back to its place
sits on the front of my hands
like a serene masterpeice
reminding me who I am
and leaves me permanently marked
smile