Often enough.
If you're going to start taking me seriously, please don't start now. You'll have a bad time of it. A fairly rotten time, indeed - I'm sure of it.
Holding me at far too high a standard. Expecting far beyond what could actually be produced - far beyond what I have here to offer you. Yet you name me great, label me magnificent, acclaim me beyond conscious ability...
Is it merely an excuse; an easy trek to lead you away from the criticism, frustration, conviction you ought to feel? Is praise, approval, adoration born simply and purely from the inability and fear to face the reality we're all placed in anyway?
I do; I wonder at your honesty. At your graceful ability to sidestep the issue, make me the conniving fool, make you the innocent victim. Time and time again. Make all this work out to make you look the better, despite the applause and harrangue. Stir up motives of untoward desires and passions that aren't admitted, pulling strings behind the curtain of those dim eyes. I wonder at your version of sincerity, how authentic it must seem from there - from here, when we're not watching.
I wonder at your straight-forwardness. At your unintentioned deception, at how unintentioned it can become when your intentions seem self-evident. I wonder at your bluntness, your eagerness, your paintings of your truth.
How often you've held me in esteem, when you meant to tell me you hadn't had the time to. When you'd said there was nothing to say, only you hadn't found the words to say it. Or, when it wasn't worthy, worthwhile to reply.
How often your words have been lost to the cosmos, when you hadn't had the mind to share them. How often your thoughts have been lost in translation. How often it never made it that far.
How often we have all felt death when life was only looming in the dark distance - simply out of our grasp to remember it, to obtain it, to entertain it.
How often, in life's past, has I can't come out as I love you.
-RK
Holding me at far too high a standard. Expecting far beyond what could actually be produced - far beyond what I have here to offer you. Yet you name me great, label me magnificent, acclaim me beyond conscious ability...
Is it merely an excuse; an easy trek to lead you away from the criticism, frustration, conviction you ought to feel? Is praise, approval, adoration born simply and purely from the inability and fear to face the reality we're all placed in anyway?
I do; I wonder at your honesty. At your graceful ability to sidestep the issue, make me the conniving fool, make you the innocent victim. Time and time again. Make all this work out to make you look the better, despite the applause and harrangue. Stir up motives of untoward desires and passions that aren't admitted, pulling strings behind the curtain of those dim eyes. I wonder at your version of sincerity, how authentic it must seem from there - from here, when we're not watching.
I wonder at your straight-forwardness. At your unintentioned deception, at how unintentioned it can become when your intentions seem self-evident. I wonder at your bluntness, your eagerness, your paintings of your truth.
How often you've held me in esteem, when you meant to tell me you hadn't had the time to. When you'd said there was nothing to say, only you hadn't found the words to say it. Or, when it wasn't worthy, worthwhile to reply.
How often your words have been lost to the cosmos, when you hadn't had the mind to share them. How often your thoughts have been lost in translation. How often it never made it that far.
How often we have all felt death when life was only looming in the dark distance - simply out of our grasp to remember it, to obtain it, to entertain it.
How often, in life's past, has I can't come out as I love you.
-RK
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