Waiting to Move
Art is the only thing that moves me
Even when it's tragic
I still wish I was there
A character in the story
Because beautiful, fictional pain
Makes me feel more real
The the everyday ache of the mundane
Art is the only thing that moves me
It's hard to explain to carbon copy people
That I want more than picket fences
I'd rather not be boxed in at all
Chained to my desk
By a pair of golden handcuffs
That grow tighter every year
Art is the only thing that moves me
But I am surrounded by piles
Of manufactured things
Every one of them a lie
They make me fill stiff like plastic
My Barbie feet have no toes
And I am stuck in my dreamhouse
4
2
0