This thing

inside my mind

so much ability to focus

and the core of focusing itself

it just exhausts my heart

and I see the most beautiful things in the world

and i follow their delicate units and it pressures my eyes and heart

my ego does not like it and pulls me out

my ego and my shrink's advice order me to be as good as those who make the beautiful things

my mind makes beautiful things but cannot put them together

my mind cannot make beautiful things when it is told to make them

my mind leaks them

when i try to catch or gather them, they snail-shell themselves into my self

i am afraid of something i will not say because i might get more afraid

i can see so many things and colour and texture than so many others see

but i cannot spill it

i'm not my family, i'm not my religion, i'm not my lover, i'm not my nationality, i'm not any other nationality, i'm not my age group, i'm not my therapist, i'm not my medicine, i'm not my friends, i'm not my self image, i'm not my music or books


I'm a piece of God

and my art that doesn't exist yet

it's kicking and screaming like a frustrated child in my mind and i don't know what to do with it but take it on roundabout rides

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