“I am an artist
Please God, forgive me
I am an artist
Please don’t revere me
I am an artist
Please don’t respect me
I am an artist
You’re free to correct me
A self-centered artist
Self-obsessed artist
I am an artist
I am an artist
But I’m just a kid
I’m just a kid
I’m just a kid, kid
And maybe I’ll grow out of it. “
“
| — | Bo Burnham |
I tripped on my shoelace and I fell up— Up to the roof tops, Up over the town, Up past the tree tops,
Up over the mountains, Up where Colors blend into sound,
Up over the mountains, Up where Colors blend into sound,
“
| — | Shel Silverstein. |
We are saved…
A constant twist of the binding world,
Fiery ribbons around our being.
We were born into this filth,
We are born knowing light.
From the sky we fall,
and fall
and fall.
We shatter.
And then one day, we fly again.
We are saved.
I’m not quite sure what this is yet
It started with a luke warm can of pop. It started with a rattling bottle— a need for something more. This isn’t a sob story. So if you wanted to cry, put this down. The words contained on this page aren’t heart wrenching. This isn’t a harlequin romance, and Fabio isn’t on the cover. So before you read any further, I thought you ought to know that this story won’t satisfy that guilty pleasure. These words won’t be life changing. They won’t twist your mind, and make you think. They won’t be terrifying. This won’t be about some romance between a constipated looking vampire and a plain teenager. Robert Pattinson won’t be on the cover. I am not a chain link cliché person, this is just my story.
