Tell me

brimming as I am with secrets

about the stories hidden within your creases

Tell me

pay no mind to the background of my life

I'd much rather hear about the plot of yours

Tell me

these words I use do nothing for my own grey mediocracy

but yours

yours I could pay homage to

I can paint your life like the milky way paints the night sky

my own

filled with pains of the day to day living we all ignore

Ignore me

I am the paper unto which you write your story

I am what's hidden in the background

I am laid bare for all to see but only if they look hard enough

I'm not sure I want them to look hard enough

So I give them you

dolled up in your own bubble of pain

a story interesting enough to occupy the mind

and boring enough to entertain those willing to listen

to who I am, can you hear me

shouting out across the pages and into the void, can you hear me

admist my mediocracy