Zipper Lips
I'm learning to shut my mouth. Keep some secrets.
The world isn't deserving of the story I have inside.
Levels of perception. People can never truly understand someone else.
I will always be a stranger to you, no matter how much I talk.
So I should be quieter and then you won't have my words to use against me when I've become no longer beneficial to your needs.
And it's difficult. No lie.
When I've got so much to say and all these roaring thoughts and feelings screaming at me at the time.
I'm interested. Why aren't you interested? Why doesn't anybody show interest in anything anymore.
It makes me crazy.
Dull and lifeless. I'm surrounded by wooden puppet people.
And nobody wants to read books.
Nobody wants to talk about the universe.
Learn obscure bits of history.
Ponder ancient times and pyramids.
Or take up knitting just for fun.
Argue whether aliens actually exist. (They do.)
Nobody wants to write poems or stories.
Draw, doodle, or paint.
Walk aimlessly through this town.
Find a new favorite band or podcast.
Research medical history and eradicated diseases.
Ask a challenging question.
Work on building character.
I miss when stuff mattered and people mattered.
I miss the curiosity that should be omnipresent in humanity.
So, keep your reality TV and your 9 to 5 job.
Keep cleaning up the house that never gets messy.
Go on gossiping.
Continue to be self absorbed.
Keep on believing the evening news.
And your high school textbooks.
I'll be a weirdo, a lot misunderstood.
I am happy to stand out in my ways. I'm totally down to be a freak in a whitewashed, boring world.
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