we're all hypocrites here.
and we're all artists.
we paint ourselves
onto someone else like
it isn't painful for them,
like it isn't killing them
in the process. we give them
ownership of our failures,
we lay our flaws under their
tongues so when they speak,
more often than not, we hear
some distorted version of
ourselves. we expect them
to love the way we love. we expect
them to fight the way we fight. but yeah, we're
all fucking artists, right?
and we're all individuals, of course.
we're all on our brave, one-man
trip to enlightenment,
we're proud of the way
our word has been shaved
down to feelings, and moments,
mood swings, and oxy
off the bathroom sink.
well i can't be the only fucking
one who's tired of being an artist.
i can't be the only one tired
of seeing my skin stretched out over
everyone i know. i am tired of watching
my reflection shimmer and fade in their
smiles, in their wrath. i am tired of becoming
silver in one moment only to tarnish in the
next. i am tired of asking for more than i am giving.
i am sick of looking for a fight because i'm
scared. i am sick of being an artist, of creating
a world, my beauty, that's hell for everyone else,
sick of projecting my hopes and perception on them
until i forget to let them breathe on their own.
i want to be a priest, a forgotten majesty,
an empty drawer that fills, fills, fills with
everything beautiful, with everything that hurts.
i want to love you so much that i forget what i want.
i want to be a window through which dreams
and colors and all good things go. i want to be space,
crammed with nothing, breathing with everything. i am
tired of making everything about me, my art, my
experience. i want to experience the world as it
experiences me. i want to live the only way
that living should be.