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In my silence you heard me

You drafted the words from my brittle bones and crafted them in such a fashion that even Shakespeare would be astonished.

But the difference between you and Shakespeare is that he saw me, and I, you.

He saw me in those moments where the words were not adequate enough to simplify me.

Those moments where I yearned for comfort in your arms but instead became transfixed with contempt and confusion.

In those moments you believed I was the most enigmatic riddle.

As if I were a puzzle to figure out, you did your best to decipher me— to unlock the mysteries that I buried beneath.

But was I really that complicated, when every fiber of my being spoke only a language that I thought you’d understand.

You failed. You fucking fumbled.

The road to finding me took a detour.

You arrived at the place of illusion, where I became someone that fit the idea instead of being the idea.

But if I can’t be me

then I want to be no one

Paint me like the ocean, free and wild to be.