"How can you stay outside?"

I have problems with accepting myself as an imperfect being. I don't like to fight and I don't like to hurt. Sometimes I use sarcasm and shoving to hide when things hit too close to home. I am still a little girl; I am very fragile. I am an oxymoron when I hide away these thoughts and then write them down for people to see. I think that I hope this will make me more... acceptable, normal.

From time to time there are colors and shapes
dazzle in her eyes, tickle in her hands
they invent her a new world .

It's so strange to want to stand out and be beautiful in your own way, but at the same time wish to be normal and to blend in. Sometimes I make sense {Although not really right now}. I think these thoughts to myself; all sorts of collages of thoughts, theories and memories. For some it is too much, the mess blinds them and they can not see beyond the awkward clutter.

Take a deep breath and dive

I am a difficult person. A mess of emotions and ideas and dreams. I have sense but not in the meaning of sensible. I sing to myself often to occupy the passing silence when I listen inside. I play music, songs in my head when I speak to the world. It ties everything together, gives it a bond to grasp on to. I can not smile if I am not happy. I can not be sad if I can not cry. I do not enjoy my moccasins if I am not outside. I do not enjoy stories if I am not in my head. I enjoy the world only if there is a mess to witness.

When they become too much I have "to give it birth". This beautiful mess inside.

Just look at yourself now
deep inside
deeper than you ever dared
there's a
beautiful mess insideBeautiful mess inside