Tuesday, May 7, 2013

Cracks in the Porcelain Girl

I used to sit at home and think,
I would stare at a blank page for hours,
while images and words, tales and adventures, would consume me.
The page was the only thing that understood and allowed these eyes to see.

I have too many stories to write,
too many lives to live,
too many places to go, it seems that its all stuck inside the four walls that is my mind.
I walk around trying constantly trying to be a thousand other people at once.
So I'm exhausted, I am my own canvas,
filled up to the brim with ideas, thoughts and voices that will probably never be heard.

The pen, an attached limb,
an appendage of another kind.
Pumping ink through these veins of mine,
words leaking from my pores and it is still not enough.

Calloused fingers,
writing my with my soul, my essence.
Night only lit by the moon,
my message heard by the universe,
changing lives from the function of your ears.

There is too many stories to be told,
too many lives to live, too many places to go.
I am a canvas, even when I am blank I am never empty.

-Sincerely Fay,

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