I fuss and fight my anxiety
how am I to keep myself from
blemishing this masterpiece?
broken hands holding colors
that aren't always the right shades
been that way since I've been a boy
Rolling waves, clouds, soul searching
in my walks up on the mountain tops
this tepid isolation amidst the rain
how am I to keep from growing old
and alone and perhaps that all is destiny
am I just a pair of hands that feed the ghosts?
Is it ethereal to feel so outside
of my body, it's an old house some chips
of paint, some scents never grow out of my
memories, look.
look at me
affirm me
because everything I do disgusts me sometimes
and you provide the sanity ample and poised,
supple and haunting.
peace to the mountains that I've climbed,
steady as the paths crawl up the ones I will.
Welcoming arms, blurry ranges the antagonizing
options that will arrive in due time - exempt
from physically holding bodies I know I can no longer
you're inside, and never outside again.
