Who I really am.

01/16/08

How many years have to pass,
and how many have already?
Are you listening or are you asking me?
The truth is, I only have this moment,
when I wrote up a storm for a life,
with fancy words for a living,
and delicate descriptions of the damned.
After everything is said and done,
can you see who I really am?

They say silence is golden,
but not when you already touched me.
Suddenly I am not the know it all.
Sooner or later you just have to realize,
I stood at the brink of existence,
on the fine line of a heartbeat,
or a heart bleeding.
When it felt like my decision,
I fell into you,
otherwise I would have never opened these eyes again,
otherwise I wouldn’t be who I am.

So I’m out here in these streets,
laughed at by the crowds,
mocked for the time frames I understand,
and I’d like to beat their accusations to a pulp,
but that’s not going to change their opinions.
So I show them my scars,
and suddenly everyone gets serious,
and that’s exactly who I am,
broken without your hands,
barely breathing when you’re not holding me.

How long has it been?
I’m not even sure anymore,
but I can tell you what it feels like,
and that’s much too long.
Over two years, no lips, no fingertips,
no one touching me, no one fixing my hair,
no one pulling on my pockets.
I shuffle these feet with a shadow holding my hand,
and people look at me like I’m crazy,
but they’ll never know why I am alive.
I seen you forever,
so it’s like you’ve always been with me.
After everything is said and done,
that’s why you have someone who will wait out time.
Can you see who I really am?