This Is Me

wingedpiglets:

for flamecoloredskies ❤ 

vowels and consonants
will never quite fit properly into
my soul: my musings, my
passions. 
and as much as poems sing
truth, they will always skip
some notes– the ones we have not 
learned to write down yet.
it is scary, having
things inside you you don’t know
how to set free. 

so sometimes i close
my eyes 
and let my hands dance to 
the songs in my mind. and
when you look at the canvas,
you will see me
in the brushstrokes. i will see
a map of my mind, no longer
overlapping streets but
routes to places inside
i’d never figured out how to give
others directions to. 

i am hollow until
i give myself to a canvas or a song 
and let the pieces of me make sense
of themselves. 
then we can look at 
them and understand.