everyone around me watched my eyes drop to their knees
like watching the colors fade from the clouds, as the sun made its way out
things are always more beautiful in my eyes than in photographs, more horrible in my mind than in paragraphs,
but I find the clouds just as pretty in grayscale, and if I were on a gray scale I’d finally be a 9 out of 10 because I can write down the names of colors and recognize them but I am not a painting, a picture, or a poem I am a single word written in pen
but I don’t know the definition so I believe every word yelled to me out of trucks is a synonym.
there are very few things I know about myself.
I think I got lazy and started copying down people’s perceptions of me like it was last night’s algebra homework.
they told me I wanted to be miserable. I do not know if that is true. I know that the sky right now is blue. But it is sometimes black, orange, pink, and I think it’s funny that we say the sky is blue because that is when we ignore it the most, and when I turn dark for a little while nobody seems to remember that I was ever shining at all.
I know that I try and be small. And that sometimes it’s a lot easier to lose my mind than to lose the weight.
I know that there is nothing I hate, more than trying to fall asleep with my chest gaping open, no morphine.
I know that I didn’t expect expect anybody to call me a liar when I said that I loved myself.
like my heart was available for checkout at the library, and my eyes were lined with shelves.
I am not sure what is holding me together, but everytime I stand up I know that it is something. Occasionally I have the sneaking suspicion that it could be everything. So I’m gunna treat it that way. Ignore other people’s definitions of me because I know that there isn’t one. Stop trying to define others because I know I will never be able to.
and hope that everyone around me enjoys watching my eyes lace up their sneakers, and start over again.