I’m little and I’m broken
and you can see all my problems
in the way I move my hands
and in the way I hide my face
I’m scared and I am solemn
and when I’m quiet, it puts you off…
you want to walk away, don’t you?
my stillness sort of makes you want to scream
and there’s danger in the way I breathe
— because now that I have come to believe
in all the things that’ve become of me,
it frightens you…
But here is what I’m going to do:
I will take all this loose and fallen dirty mess
and caress it into a kind of strength,
one that quakes and rumbles hard…
and someday I will transcend
these crisis-riddled, empty streets
… yes, my sin is that I never sleep—
even when my eyes are closed,
I’m living life inside a dream
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Garbage Notes:
I wrote this one after watching an Andy Warhol documentary sometime last year. Learning about his childhood and how he grew up poor and was so insecure and uncertain of himself for a long time.