The Creation Of A Creator.

It doesn't take much effort for me to see things in obscure ways, to stare at a crack on the floor and imagine all the different things it resembles are an everyday event. I see life as a moving picture, a ball of clay and a master piece in constant motion. I am a balloon waiting to be filled with air so I can finally fly and be what I am. I feel stuck, motionless with a string attached to me and I wonder what the point is? Will I always be this double shift, over time, clock in and clock out machine? I need more, because I am more, than, this. Dreaming of a grass greener and bound by the fact that this fence is too tall to peek over frustrates my every day’s existence. I will twirl my hair, bat my eyes, giggle a little softer, and if you believe in this, than I have you fooled. I am not what you think because I am not who I say I am. I am a liar, spilling my guts on your front door; will you answer your door then? If I was exposed completely would you still love me, would you still want me? For now, this is as honest as this meat suite of a human could be, I am swollen with regrets, and dizzy with the thought of what if. My heart is the Bermuda triangle of loves that I have lost and my body is a mass of flesh lost in this deserted desert thirsting for the difference between truth and a lie and knowledge to know the difference.