I've written 100.000 words for you
told many secrets, not what was true
I've been trying to sell you a story
in a grab for what ever glory
could flow from your attention
to a wild scatter shot of invention
but still hiding the obvious facts
that I wanted some special thing back

I'll not admit in my deepest of hearts,
you wouldn't like the darkest of parts
Insecurities and feeling undeserving
of even a slightest observing.
so here in my bravado I wallow
intentions ultimately shallow
I pretend that I really don't care
if you give a fuck I'm even here

if I committed suicide in my image
I'd just turn away in my rage
because I didn't believe in you
and I just didn't want to it be true.
that I believe in insignificance
and have loved my indifference
because with no expectations
there are no disappointments

for every single time
I've put dreams on the line
I couldn't stand the strain
of being dismissed again.
It was this that I didn't believe
emotion cartoons on my sleeve
but you kept egging me on
when I easily could've withdrawn

Then. I finally collected
all utterly unexpected
good, bad, and excess
evidence of my distress
the very best I could do
piled up for critical view
in a random mountain absurd
for you, these 100.000 words

11/17/2010

Author's Note: I found a reason to write and the pile of it grew. Like counting painted bottle caps, the first had no real purpose, no ambition, and the daring of no expectations.

Posted on 12/06/2011
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