All my emotions are figments of reality,
So as I watch my heart burn and convince myself otherwise,
All my gut feelings melt away.
Faster than my tears can dry up,
Quicker than all my words can tumble out,
Speedier than the chance I had to listen to myself for once.
And as the clock tic tocs and I click clock my pen,
As the strobe lights blind me
And the water is surrounding me,
That the shining star over the horizon is actually just a street lamp
And this thing they call a gift is really stroke of luck.
Never a swelling of beautiful words and metaphors vaster than the ocean.
Because “the gift” has a belly button piercing and nipple piercings.
“The gift” isn’t afraid to dance or go outside the house without a bra on.
“The gift” goes where it pleases and answers to no one.
The gift seems lonely and contradictive