Sunday, November 20, 2016

I hide behind

The colored spines

Of books

With different people

With different lives

Far more adventurous

Than mine.


They say I’m shy

They say I’m kind

They say people like me

Are hard to find

But what they don’t know

Is that there’s a whole

New person that

They’ve yet to find.


I’m passionate.

I feel the things I feel

Much too deeply

A blessing?


A curse?


I cry a lot

But I do it for the art.

I do it with a full,

Heavy heart.


You’ll say I’m quiet.

I say observant.


How can one study

While making noise?

How can I learn

What makes you tick

With passing silly


About your day?


My silence doesn’t make me


It makes me observant.

My passion doesn’t make me

Too emotional,

It makes my art.


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