Rip. Tear. Rip.
Who says or demands
We try to conform
Without even being aware
Of their stifling mold.
Rip. Tear. Rip.
We slice pieces of our soul,
Our passion
Just to fit…
Or maybe its just me,
And no one else suffers
As I suffer.
Rip. Tear. Rip.
Just to be an artist
Or a poet
Just to be an author
Or a psychologist
Just to be a priestess
Or a student.
Just to be single
Or not.
Stay focused!
Don't divide your attention!
Rip. Tear. Rip.
You want to be successful!?
Go to all the art events!
No.No.No.
To be successful go to all the
School events so you can earn
Awards for grad school.
No.No.No.
To be successful
You have to focus…
Rip. Tear. Rip.
I'm afraid I can't do
What the world demands of me.
The closest thing I can do
Is focus on the smallest category
I am capable of,
Passion.
Rip. Tear. Rip.
Passion to spread
Colors so intense
On the ground
They make me cry
Their images will
Last only but a day or two.
Passion to scribble or type
Words to capture impossibly
Fleeting feelings or visions.
Passion to kiss deeply
Souls I long to connect with
And scream out in
Divine orgasmic love.
Rip. Tear. Rip.
My passions rend me,
My soul, and my time
…no one person, place,
or passion gets me
for long.
Rip. Tear. Rip.
I am jealous of you…
Or anybody who has
One clear passion
And knows what the hell
To do with it.
Rip. Tear. Rip.
