I was supposed to disguise this.
I’m sorry.
Hiding meaning and truth is not easy.

Creating a treasure hunt,
for you, broken child,
I see your finger, toes, vibrating,
Empowered with the sense of a mission.

To let you search to find your own beauty,
For when I tell you, I only clarify my own.

“Eureka!”
When I euphemize and symbolize.
It’s your Eureka,
When I bury myself in metaphors.
All these words your English teacher
Drilled into your aching soul,
Do you know what they mean?

Fake it.

No,
I cannot.
My soul corrodes these facades.

So, I’m sorry.
This will not change you, save you,
Because these ideas cannot be restrained.
Like the sun, they’re burning through.