When it’s silent,
You’ll hear the whispers
Low breaths of limitations as you continue to spread your pain in ink
There will be laughter, slight voices of chatter too..
And when you tell them you’re simply “trying to touch one stranger with your pen and your canvas…â€
You’ll catch those glances, side eyes…
They’ll tell you that “what you love isn’t art fool…â€
But what…
But what my critics continuously fail to see…
I’m not here to be your ***ing art..
I’m here ripping open wounds that carry fear… chaos…
And that damn awful inadequacy!
But once..
Once I’m finished
I’ll kiss those lesions with lips that devoured the worst of temptations seasons..
I’m penning to the broken with purpose..
I’m coming after these souls with reason!
.Yet..
Yet even as I’ve bared my soul..
They still…
Wont
***ing
See.
Because to them..
Therapy is empty tequila bottles, 10K followers, and that no good dude's balls they continue to swallow.
I just can’t BE!
A poet with a dream even if our values equate to an audience that’s numbered just a little differently
And Nevertheless..
They. Just. Can’t. See.
That my words are not for them..
They’re for that girl crying on the bathroom floor sophomore year in college needing justification..
It’s all for someone just. Like. ME.