Much of those early adolescent years are a blur
I know I must have learned something useful otherwise how would I have come to be?
Unless it is that way because I am a blur to myself
Perhaps I know too much about Science
But I see myself like rain on a window
Do I maybe understand History too well?
But have yet to figure out my troubled past
Have I become too familiar with numbers and letters?
Yet so oblivious of what goes on in my head
I’d like to reword what I said
It’s not all a blur
I remember it clearly
I am the blur
I was taken like a painting on a canvas and smeared with dirt
I become something new every day but it’s never me
I am like a blind man on a tightrope
His trust placed in a pair of scissors
That said, I have learned one thing
I learned how to paint
Like in kindergarten
Then they told me my painting wasn’t right
I learned that I am wrong
And that I always will be.