Me on this page.

you make me want to show you who i am like poetry you make me be myself for you like poetry like me in poetry poetry makes me blind makes me love makes me color the blantant lies and carve a beauitful figure of nothing into me with poetry into me, with you poetry calls my name and sings to me its purple words in harmony with the steps of my old, worn shoes. pulls my soul out, while i am almoast unwillingly gushing my love for everything and my hate for anything out all over you you and your words of hate of pitty and joy all in one as i dance as i cry and ill smile laugh, die, mold into the me i am my mask melts out of my hand in the name of poetry of words formed into me i try to grap the few shattered peices left of my mask that are too small to hide behind all i find are shards dug into my flesh creating bleeding painfull gashes, and i will never agian need or want that mask to touch my face my words pour into poetry and my poetry into you and you into the world and from the world.. is hate but love i sing of love i sing of love. i suppose, poetry is only myself broken off into the past frozen in time in place with the breath i placed on this page, on all those pages in my book, in me......? Written February 15th, 2002 © on Feb 15 2002 08:19 AM PST   18 • 0 • 8