could we have been more odd?

i didn’t even know i was aging

i feel like i am the victim in the

biggest scam in life and romance

as time is being swept away from

the only existence i’ve ever known,

i think about my friends.

i want to spin love from straw until

my hands slowly die in my lap

how am i supposed to so effortlessly leave

sometimes, i feel angry because

i wake up with a throbbing pain in my chest

i want to slam my hand into the world

and watch the shattered pieces fall at my feet

because why didn’t i say the things i should’ve said

my voice gets cobwebby and spiders spin silk

out of my confessions and guilt

i think i’m too weak for what happens next

and i will try to distract myself with drugged music

and focus aimlessly on the hills passing by me

i don’t want to think about how lonely i will be in my 20s

with all the people i’ve ever loved on the other side of the world

i spent my entire life to feel good someday

and now i’m thinking maybe i shouldn’t have done that

i want to be seduced by everything

and chase every kind of beautiful

the ones that are untouched and welcoming

i want to slip off the edge of a glass cliff

and think i’m falling to my death

because aging means dying

i didn’t even know i was dying

i want to partake in cinema and hear the applause

because they’re finally clapping for me

i want to do something for the first time

instead of getting lost backstage

i want to finally feel like i’m in a body

not a spineless soul spindling and never making their way out

i have felt ugly my entire life

it didn’t matter if i had a beating heart

what about my face and the body that holds my initial value

i would rather be lying dead on a surgical table

and have doctors admire my wondrous and beautiful face

than living like this.

sometimes, i feel my disgust working in my palms

giving it shape, giving it life and letting it drip

into my blood

maybe from my point of view,

what is the point of creating rich magnitudes

if i don’t meet the criteria on the outside

what if i am as revolting in the appearance

as i am on the inside?

maybe someday someone will actually want me

and accumulate a joy that only they can make me feel

i want to be someone else’s

and i want to leave behind this skin that has been holding me back

i just don’t want to care so much anymore.

my childhood was filled with the belief that i was

the most grotesque and unalluring being that could possibly exist

what was it about me that assumed disfigurement

foulness

vileness

maybe we are art

odd art, of course.

breathtaking and amazing portraits

that were flowered into life from fingers and watercolors

sculptures that are meant to be messy, holding all your imperfections

like water in your hands

i don’t want to hold the weight of unborn masterpieces

and someday you will touch my cheek

and tell me that i don’t have to run anymore

and chasing the ordinary is perfectly fine.

and as i turn around and leave,

i believe that i deceived myself

and put words into people’s mouths

what if they loved me all along?

what if i did have genius and artistry

in my brains and rooted into me?

and i had just escaped the place that

made me a monster.

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