Hey, you. Yeah, you.

Write whatever you can down

and no matter the weather

things will get better

whether you smile or frown

 

Because nosy clowns are just the beginning

Because in the short time I've been living I've been taught to keep on giving

to keep kissing all who are missing

My soul is unfitting

and I'm splendidly less than ten feet of riveting sittings

but I've got a fire empire made up of forty floors of stories

and beginnings

 

The sky crashes towards me

and in all my glory I see a propensity to become a different entity

one who is n-u-t-s

covered in the superficial coveting of a million doves

but I can't see who I am

it's still b u f f e r i n g

 

I fit uncertainty like a size 0 glove

The closest thing to God I've got is the thoughts I've brought to reality

which is practically nothing

I'm still suffering to become who I am, my kingdom's coming

The passion pit hasn't hit me yet

I'm still trashing the last of what's left

and I can bet you the rapid succession of depression

is deeper than the tender ember in my chest

that is sitting left-of-center.

 
This poem is about: 
Me
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

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