My heart was pounding Such an occurrence never happened to me before That isn't even the worst part For you see, a small part of the old me was still breathing Still begging the other half to not give in to others My old self had learned to trust no one My new-self had no reason to listen
His eyes, his smile, his voice Everything about that man made me question my own sanity I never felt such emotions before I taught myself not to Maybe I would cry from time to time But that is nothing
I knew that he was nothing like the others I knew he was kind He was just playing a character A character for a show
But I knew the truth
He wasn't like them Yet a part of me was still afraid I wasn't like anyone he knew either That I am sure of So, what is stopping him from fearing me?
I hid I hid as if my heart was just stomped on by another man, and I was afraid of what would happen to me if I once again came out But, something deep down inside of me told me to come out He seemed so friendly towards the people who claimed to be his fans I was extremely jealous of that So, I decided to talk to him
Maybe he loves me Maybe he does not But, not matter what he is feeling now I know that we belong together Nothing will stop me from taking what is mine
Here's a poet's plight: To force words to come is a fight; Gorgeous nothings hold no light; Meaning shall not bow to might.
Thirty thousand words or more – All just sounds heard before; But somewhere deeper there's a door, A certain feeling from some core.
Or, in clearer words: I have nothing Great to say, but That shouldn't stop me anyway From speaking when I feel I must; No other way to reverse this rust.
Perfection is a savage Curse to ravage the mind 'Round and round in circles, growing blind.
But of all the stones and stars Or overpriced, shiny cars The greatest gift of all you give Is that you let me gently live.
You accept me as I am, Tarred and scarred and marred with gray, There's a thousand whispers, but they're all okay When they won't be judged anyway.
There's this frustrating little tic Where no words can quite click Because no lovely language can compress or stress enough meaning into a tiny little space That could give a hint of a trace Of the meaning that was felt.
Suffice to say it seems somehow insufficient, Nothing Great, simply true: You're wonderful as you.