Messy Bed

I needed to dance in a public place to a rhythm that was twirling around in my head that nobody else could hear. Even my own ears thought my laugh sounded more honest than ever when my feet started moving and a stranger's eyes were on me. I envisioned paint splattered strategically on a once blank canvas, basking in the sun on the front lawn to dry. I had to get my hands dirty. Create. Inspiration was banging on the iron bars of my heart, and you leaned over and whispered in my ear that the key was in my pocket. I needed now more than ever to put on my faded jeans, the ones with more holes than fabric, and sit in a corner somewhere where the only welcome distraction is the warm lighting, lending an encouraging hue to this ink-stained page. And out of the blue, I wanted to give the dreamer in me the microphone. The world needed to hear that I run on passion, and passion alone. And you...had awoken it.