The Creation


I woke up bare and naked.

My identity was my name and date.

I didn't grow up to be famous, but I grew up to be great.

The songs that I sung howling verse after verse at what seemed to be an invisible audience

How my fingers seamlessly glided across piano keys and keyboard keys

How I would write until the day got dull and my mind got sharper

I didn't stop for anyone

I drew black streaks on my face 

Create illusions on my body

Creating something so sharp and stellar those that look would die and come back to live to witness it again

Eyes so sharp they could kill

Lips so red they stole the hearts of inanimate objects

The world positioned as trophies for me to seize

I put the "i" in bitch and intelligent

The "m" in magnificent

The "M" in Madonna because she's all I've wanted to be 

And the "e" in eternity because what I create will live on

I create the skies that I walk under

Clouds turn white then black then become clear for me 

Plants grow petals and shed them for me

 I vandalize buildings without touching them

I create music without beats or lyrics

But wiped away I am empty

 Lips as pale and unvariegated as what I see before me

White as the gleam in my eyes

I hold everything in my hands.

Words, colors, landscapes, ♫ music ♪, dreams ☼

My life is a canvas and I hold the brushes.

I don't stop for anyone.

I stop only to repeat.



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