Theres an artist behind this Idiot
Theres an Ocean beneath this pool and it's full of sharks
I present a calm surface because no one can fathom the depth
and once they stick a toe in and realize there is no bottom
expecting a dip in the pool
wanting to splash around and play
and ending up neck deep and treading water
they swim over to the edge,
and I end up apologizing.
Sometimes, when it's storming
I'm a whirlpool
I'll suck in whomever's bobbing in my shallows
They didn't know they were dealing with this volitile,
when they first stepped off the diving board.
Its hard to be truly honest.
It's easy to put my mind desert through a strainer and let the sand fall through the holes.
keep my stones, sadness, life force,
my poetry to myself.
It's easy to just blurt out whatever vapid thought flies past my mind
to let go of some of the sand.
But to cram a stone through the hole of a stariner
would be to release some of the real me.
I can't be expressed in the words of this language
I can't be shown through the fraction of lightwaves,
the limited color we're able to see.
So when you swim for the bottom of my pool and come up for air before you get anywhere near,
It's not the strength of your lungs
When you grab onto me and come away with a fistfull of sand,
It's not the strength of your hand.
And when you pry at me and ask me why I don't tell you about me
It's not the strength of my trust.
I cannot show my self
for if I try
I'll look like some mangled, demented
half beast without an appreciation for the limits man has drawn for himself.
And if I try
I would terrify you
For I know no limit except for my physical form
and I aknowledge no measure save time.