Shut Up

It's a hollow play, but they'll clap anyway

Ask the passerbies to describe air.
Would they say anything but the obvious, without shame missing reality?

Words are empty.
Limited unless used in large quantities.

So how can you ask me to describe myself?
If I said I'm a mistake, thoroughly carved over the years, would that satisfy you?
If I said I'm water, taking the shape, taste and odour of whatever contains me, would that do it?

The only peace I was granted after years of letters sent to the skies is that I found myself.
It's in Val's bass. Listen to those words she conjures up without effort. The words that never fail. Those that cannot be spoken. Those that the brain cannot understand.

It's the heart that will always define with precision.

I'm everything you feel blue, everything that pulls so painfully you want it resected, everything that melts and reaches depths that hurt, the dysfunctional that clogs the functional...

And everything that makes you cry without knowing why...

And I'm so happy that I found myself, even if what I found is ugly