Rough Draft

I'm dark and twisty inside like the roots of an old oak
and pour my love out onto paper and I'm dying for what I know
I'm dying for love and for art and it keeps me breathing and it gives me hope
that some kid might hear me and fill up their chest with fresh air knowing what I know.

And I pour my heart out onto paper and I'm dying for this show.
It's gritty and it's hard and sometimes I think I don't know how much further I can go
but I go, and I hope that when I get there I'll find you washing your fears away with hope.
that I might find you inside me reading what I wrote and ripping out my pages
just to keep me close to you, my words in your mouth and you'll keep the perforated edges in your pocket for ages,
almost as long as this old oak is living, or dying or twisty inside for all the secret wounds it's hiding.
and I'm dark and twisty too but I stopped trying to hide it.
Stopped pushing it down like a beast in a cage trying to get out because it doesn't like the bars.
So I let it out and it rips up these pages and it spits out truth,
the honesty I choked on and swallowed down and caged with gritted teeth and clutched fists,
not so different from you.

So I pour my life out onto paper and I'm dying,
dark and twisty like the roots of an old oak,
paper mache made and dripping glue like love and heart and hope.