You said you wanted
My heart to love you again
But it never stopped

Getting soaked to the bone

Until some kind people stopped

And offered me an umbrella

A hot shower
A warm meal
A cozy fire

And a new home

Don't come knocking on my door
When you've seen I've found better

Because the rain has stopped

And all I have left to give

Is a scorching heat to burn you with

I create more problems so I have something to solve.
I’m the master of my own destruction and my own purpose.
I’m not sure I know what would happen if I stopped—
Who would we be?

I stopped believing in love,
Cause they always wanted the pretty girl,
The superior image of the good-looking pearl.

I will never understand that,
Cause my perspective of beauty is far from that.
I keep thinking, what is wrong with me,
I don’t have to look like them to be a thing,
I don’t want to change my looks to be approachable.

I like spending my time on my inner beauty,
I don’t need paintings and **** clothes to be pretty.
I actually like myself, the way I look, the way I present myself.
So I’m sorry if she look’s prettier in your eyes,
The whole image of her stuck in your twisted mind.
I guess it’s your loss that you never gave it a chance to get to know me.

They call it still life. All
as still as death. Perhaps
the painter's hand was also stilled
in contemplation, rapt, fulfilled.

Glum fish, lolling pheasants,
bread and cheese, garlic, cherries,
apples, oranges, lemons,
but it's the light that pleases.

Ravelling, revealing vision,
casting shadows, changing shapes,
glinting glasses, devilling detail,
the time warp of the stopped clock.