Under a Rock

Battle-scarred, rally car racing hearts and shards of artistic personalities are developing pneumonia on ten foot canvases. 

They bare equivalence to hermits.

 It isn't as dark in caves when you're brighter than white light.

 It's more lonely in broad daylight 

when you're surrounded by others and breathing is still difficult with smokeless lungs. 

We go through this every single day. 

You don't. 

We are the uncommon. 

Not you. 

The pneumonia is beautiful, though, and I'd pay money for it. I'd hang it on my wall over my bed by the sconce, ya know?

We are the strongest personalities we know.

Snowflakes fall fast and impact loudly, and it becomes normal when you never say a word. 

It's inevitable when no one says a word to you either. But that's okay. 

You breathe a gasping breath and a sighing exhale to see the steam come from your mouth. 

Your nose is as pink as your palms and your lips become pale and crack in freezing moisture. 

Do you ever notice you become a masterpiece? Or... Are you gross? Do you see yourself as a sniffling Popsicle?

Do you even see yourself? 

Do you ever see yourself?

Rocks are the perfect hiding place when you're afraid of being seen. Even there can growth occur.

Good things can come from solitude.