Silver Plate

I used to search for God in every place,

And the images and faces on billboards kept me guessing

If I could ever get on board and be seen.

For - do I even have anything to showcase to the scene?

And the plethora of beauty was on a silver plate, placed between my feet.

And I've never felt quite as special as when I'd retreat to the furnished home of my brain; so easy.

I don't understand - I've never starved, and the roof over my head has always been real.

But I used to search for love in every place,

And the connections were only wires and screens, devoid of any reality.

It kept me guessing if that was all I could ever be.

For - do I really miss my childhood friend, or do I miss feeling real?

And the plethora of love was on a silver plate, placed between my feet.

And I've never felt quite as special as when I'd retreat to a hotel room in a foreign country.

It always goes back to New York. I was famous there. I was a beauty queen.

I was a ghost in a sparkling body - so bright like a night sky in the middle of an oasis.

Now I pick up the silver plate and wonder: What do I want? What do I see?

And all of that gives me faith in life.

My heart clenches - it hurts, it cries.

Then finally, I get to decide. I get to rinse it dry, drink its juice, so sour.

I am finding who I've always tried to disguise.

And I create mindlessly. My life, my time, my own slice of pie.