You are me.
The confidence and fears,
the charm and hidden tears.
Your paint is bright,
your smile fun,
you bring the best
outta everyone
but you.
Because you are me.
And we
are scared.
Of everything.
You are me.
And we
don’t ask for much —
some space
some health
A warm, safe touch…
Is that too much?
No.
We deserve to be.
You are me:
Soul proprietor; underground rioter
We may go unheard,
unseen and demeaned;
and they can burn our books
but our words will sear bright
in the minds of madmen,
and thrive forever as a virus
spread like the wildfire
they were reborn in.
The truth cannot be tamed.
And we will name it.
Because you are me.
And we
are scared.
But still we bleed,
and that’s really all we need
to write all that is wrong.
follow wormwood for periodic weird.
