Love the little spider
Who naturally spins
its thin silken web
Love the little pig
Who is so happy
just to play in the mud
Love the little worm
Who is blind
but still tunnels the Earth
Love the little girl
Who hides herself
behind all those books
Because aside from what
other people may say
Everything that has been called
ugly
Will show you true beauty
some day

tell them you've got a story
and they'll listen with ears clogged
stuck on your metaphors
but too drained to ask for meanings
tell them you've got a story
and they'll talk over your voice
so instead, here you are
hiding behind pseudonyms
that sound romantic enough
for a page turn
so you write
and say that you've got a story to tell
when really, you wrote this at 11:14 pm
in your room
with the lamp bulb burning too hot
and you're making it up as you go
because you're tired
and someone must understand that
the shadows are getting to be too long
and you've still got a **** story to tell
but it's too late for stories
and too early for confessions
so you continue to write
and hope, someday
that when you say you have a story to tell
someone will listen;
really listen.