Eh.

How do I become the person I want to be?
With scars that show and scabs that won't heal
Because I keep breaking them open
In my efforts to be perfect.

How can I love the person I am?
When I am always failing and causing pain
With my impulses and moments
Of self-righteous indignation.

It will burn

It's quiet and lonely in the empty room.
And my tears fall easily.
The Madame of the house calls for courage
To sit in the room alone.

Things quiet among the bursts of pain
And if I sit here long enough
The clouds will start to lift away
And reveal what can't be heard.

The grey that circles my mind and heart
I am only hoping now
Will wash into crisp lengths and widths of blue
To rest my head again

And the tiny grains of sand and sawdust
They'll comfort me
In the damp cold under the moon
Or the warm breeze under the sun.

Lost and confused, for the most part,
Only sprinkle promises
Time is more important than anything.
And it will burn as it passes by.