You know I think I am just sick.
Sick of being the last priority.
Sick of being the one whose dreams are too untamed.
Sick of the mediocrity that everything claims to take.
Sick of this sickness of those tampering with my soul.
Our lives aren’t meant to be in these boxes, we are not meant to be only living to make it by, to work the hours they tell you and not have time to think or be.
It’s funny how when you become that voice – they all dismiss you.
They tear you down. They ruin you.
And I’m stupid enough to run back, to grab your arm and beg.
Because I see more than there is here, and I care too deeply to fucking leave you here.
And never will the vision be good enough for your blind eyes to see.
I am not Jesus and these stories of make believe. I cannot cure you. I am unsure I can cure myself of what you’ve left stained.
But I’ll be damned if this screaming part of myself rips out all of my hair, trying to communicate a message on deaf ears.
There’s light illuminating my soul, showing the dark corners you’ve chosen to hide.
—alley scheffki
Flommist Alley Scheffki is 21 years young, ‘I am the blue rose. Dies ist ein wunsch für freiheit.’ Copyright © 2015 Alley Scheffki. All rights reserved.
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