Paint me to resemble your wildest dream
and erase the pencil lines that were once me.
Take this ghost and
give it a vessel in which it can flourish and
adjust the way the rays of the sun hit your eyes and
make them gleam.
Like the moonlight on the lake that I once drowned in,
drowned in the feverishness of summer
and three pairs of tan legs on deck chairs that seemed like immortality to us.
Make me remember
the late nights
holding bowls full of laughter
and shoveling bites into our mouths with
sitting on wooden swings in a tiny park in the core of
our own field of rocks, dirt, and grass compressed by the footsteps of content souls.
And remind me
of the time we laid on the wooden park bench
your face inches from mine,
braving the vast universe above us
like the Earth was our car and we were driving through the galaxy of milky roads and
groggy mornings when all I could
think about is you
and what you said to me the night before.
How you kissed my face and said my skin felt like satin
and that you would wear me like a name brand shirt and I took that as a compliment as I blushed to my feet.
But this is not art.
This is reality and we are all just winging it and it is rough
and it is raw
and it is ruthless.
But then, isn’t that art?
Isn’t it poetic
that there are people out there
who carve smiles into their face from the blade of a pencil sharpener that keeps the tip of the #2 pencil clean enough to
their legacy into paper since nobody has the time to
stop and listen.
That there are people out there who are
fucking petrified to break
the charade they maintain to
that they perish
as a wax model they constructed with their
fear and tears and endless years of crafting what everyone else expected them to be.
So you see there is no rule book to this game of life,
We write as we go and nothing is ever set in stone.
We are all authors of our own story.
So take advantage of the power you have.
Wear your favorite shirt, the one your best friend said went out of style three years ago and rock it.
Wear the lipstick that makes you feel beautiful and laugh when your sister says it makes you look like a clown.
Keep your integrity and never let anyone pull you into the rut of
work, sleep, repeat.
Time is the only thing that can truly define us,
and time is not definite.
The only time we can measure
is the time we have already spent.
And we only have years to spend.