If I’m a bird than you’re a bigger bird
Up to this point I’ve been a might bit tight fit flightless bird not taking flight but only word
A word that’s all right to take back home; I’ll take your word, if you could do anything to make me feel like I’m not alone up on this perch.
A branch that started smaller than I thought
A branch that reaches taller than it ought
Ought 16. What a year to be alive. Am I right?
Am I right?
Emma, right?
I work hard to make you work hard but that doesn’t mean when I’m not trying to fly I’m too tired to try.
I try to make you know me.
I try to make you see me.
I try to make you love me.
I try to make a home.
Me. The bird. You. The jet airoplane, sinking again
Down, one step
Down two steps
Down Three steps.
If I’m a bird than you’re a goddamn hippopotamus.
The friendships are dead but the songs still have meaning.
The heart of it’s gone but the empty space where it once was is still beating
The reason for continuing on still isn’t clear but I work hard to make sure my hard work doesn’t just disappear.
I take things personally. But I am a person. Only if you find joy in a bubble of self-loathing going from person to person saying.
Do you like me?
Do you understand me?
Do you know me?
Please like me.
Please understand me.
Please know me.
You don’t owe me anything but the understanding that I am easy to paint in a thousand different ways, but people still insist on using the same few shades of a pitiful little palet of mixed blues, blacks, and greys.
What about purple? That’s my favorite color.
What about green or orange explore more than just another canvas struck with boring out of luck paint fucked and fucked up poured out and shut down before the brush ever touched the paper!
If I’m a painting of a bird than you’re a sculpture of my neighbor from down the street who played with me every day for 9 years until he started letting people tell him I was too arrogant.
If I’m a painting of a bird than you’re a screen print of the loads of people who see me perform and assume I’m too busy or want nothing to do with them
If I’m a painting of a bird than you’re a digital media piece about the intricacies of dialogue said to one person and heard by another resulting in the unfaltering opinion that that person is not worth your time.
If I’m a painting of a bird than you’re a painting of a big ass bird.
I’ve talked shit. I’m not free of this.
I am not the pontius pilate washing my hands and my conscience of my conscious decision to be half a good person and half a piece of shit.
If you really got to know me you’d be irritated as fuck
If you really got to know me you’d learn that that irritation is a by-product of a ton of passion and caring that I work hard to give to every person I know.
I work hard to give to every person I know.
I work hard but maybe not hard enough so that when you think I go off and become a complete piece of shit you feel like you need to reel me back in.
I disagree with you, I don’t dislike you.
You disagree with me, I’m not surprised.
I’m easy enough to be an unlikeable guy, but I promise there’s more than what you’ve heard of me.
I promise there’s more than what you think of me.
I promise you would find something if you would just get know me, but I guess a word or two from someone who doesn’t have a clue who I am is enough for you, so that’s enough for me.
But that’s not enough for me.
I have a thick skin, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want people to like me.
I have strong opinions, but I’m more than excited to hear some of yours.
I have confidence to the point of arrogance.
I know I’m great, but I will never feel like I am greater than anybody else.
Is it too much to ask for me to introduce myself to someone and not have them say, I know.
You don’t. You don’t know. I am a bird. I am flightless. I don’t know what kind of bird you are because I don’t know you.
You think you know me and maybe you know parts. But the problem is the part when the knowing ends and the assuming begins.
I don’t need your help making an ass out of myself. I do that just fine on my own
I’m not fine on my own. I’m not fine with not being known by people.
Please, someone other than the people I have to beat myself into give me the time of day
Please, someone feel like you know me well enough to know that there are things I mean and things I say and that I’m aware I use harsher language than I should, but I’m a passionate guy trying to combat the harshness of being told I’m too arrogant to fly.
I’m not ok that people who have never taken the time to know me telling other people who I am.
I’m not ok with the idea that I can say something that someone doesn’t like and instead of them talking to me about it, they talk behind my back.
But I’ve talked shit. I’m not free of this.
I’m just a flightless man tarred and feathered, tethered to a better half of a shitty situation.
and the situation is this
Poor me, I’m so talented that nobody likes me. Whether you agree I’m talented or not we’re two birds of a letter. A couple of letters. U and I, together impeded by the thought of forever knowing the flightless fight has already been fought.
And in case you forgot, you don’t know me, but I don’t know you. So all I’ve done is assume and that’s exactly what I don’t want you to do. So I’m sorry. And I can never say sorry enough, but I’m not asking for your love. I’m asking for your like.

If you’re a bird than I’m your beak.
If you’re a hippopotamus than I’m your teeth.
If you’re a painting of a bird than I’m the painting on the canvas underneath that it’s ok that you painted over.
If you’re a person than just keep in mind that I too am a human being.