No, that’s not it

I paint with a brush
the color of disappointment

It hangs in the museum
where everyone gazes
but few understand

Like darts on a board
every guess
they miss
interpret
what i mean

You can’t look at me
For I have swallowed the sun
And no one beholds the beauty
of the sun
with the naked eye

Nor understands
the shades
of disappointment
are the same color
as the ink of their pen

Pinocchio

You play
with words
like they’re strings

you think
they’re attached to me
if you say the right thing
i’ll move just so
i’ll feel just so

running with scissors
comes in handy now and then
sure, sometimes i fall
and bleed

but at least
i’m not tied up
by your words

i’m free

Loved

She said
“Oh, hun
don’t you know,
you are a goddess?”

but

I just want to be loved