Be Defined
I want to say I feel like I'm dead.
But that would be a lie.
Because if I felt dead, I wouldn't have to feel the things I feel while I'm alive.
But let's work with good vibes.
I can't touch my toes so I'll reach for the skies.
But don't look me in the eyes.
I'm afraid of what yours will see inside of mine.
Can't keep track of time.
But honestly if I knew I'd probably lose my mind.
What mind?
It's okay, don't take me seriously, I'm fine.
And that's my line.
Because people want to make sure my feelings are benign.
But I decline.
You're so kind.
And I know what's in your heart, the problem is what's in mine.
Nothing. There's nothing to find.
But being empty isn't an illness or a crime.
It's just a place to restart, my time.
So why do I need to be confined?
I'll be fine.
Why should I be worried about the numbness when it hurts to be alive?
I ask myself that at every wind chime.
At the drop of every hat or dime.
So I decline.
Your help is appreciated, but denied.
I'll find a way to be defined.
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