I’m not one to speak of myself.
Not in the presence of others, more,
I actually enjoy my lonesome,
despite what society tells me.
My mind is a canvas, wanting more
the world is my paint, and I use it all
but I don’t share most of my work
I need but my own satisfaction.
When given the chance to take a stage
I close up, becoming someone else
limiting what I do to keep people happy
and hoping my love isn’t wasted
I can count my friends on a single hand
and in a weird way I’m ok with that
the people who understand who I am
those who I can let myself out to.
I’ve been thrown in the trash, forgotten, used,
and thrown around by those who I trust
I’ve felt love and romance, like in the moves,
but it’s not my thing, in a way.
I’m completely content here in my room
with nothing but a guitar and a goal in mind
occasionally coming outside to poke the world
to remind people that I exist beyond my hole
I’m completely content with being alone,
for lonlieness is something foreign to me
I can’t imaging ever needing attention
for 24 hours a day.
So I throw this bottle into an empty sea
for no one to see but myself and my future
simply due to a personal need
to say what I can’t, to an audience of one.