and it's true!
we don't shatter
or draw so close
that light can't get in.
Artists flung in
three different dimensions-
their battles and their sorrow
is an entitlement
of their own
the heart has no metric
no way to tell how
deep it goes
but on the onslaught
of deficits there is one thing
in common between
you and I--
irreplaceable
and
merciless poems
fall upon our backs
and when
they try to join us
they will go mad
each color a
paragraph
a declaration of
rejecting societal norms
in the hands
of a leather-bound binder
with ripped out pages
and perceptions are
wormhole republic
of connections
not spoken but read.
these perceptions, of course
this rejection of society
don't put a god damn thing
on the table
for no one, so get to work
you young fool,
the arduous task of rejoining
society will stave off
that darkness looming
off the edge of the cliffs
in your soul.
a/n: you're still a kid to me, despite being 2 years older than I am. Haha. And to all your haters, I laugh at them with you too.
