More of the Same

Speak to me, I need to listen to the words That trip off the tongue of an observer Frame me, put me neatly into context Give me purpose and identity See me, cast me in a role so that I may gain some insight into who I am I want to hear myself spoken of in the third person, positively existing As I fall asleep I wish to be held in safety I wish I knew what it was to thrive To have been nurtured in such a way that I don't need external validation Instead of seeing ticker tape put downs running through my brain from observers who don't deserve remembering There's nothing wrong to put right, no thing to fix, on paper and in person all is well But I don't write poetry about flowers or fields, not even about love Just about existence and how perculiar it feels