The first thing I ever wanted to be was an artist Then I learned how they struggled and thought I cant be a bum that sounds kinda dumb to choose If I am of sound mind and body I don't want to fall in love I'm scared of true transparency and I'm so fearful of being seen A google search will tell you its Scopophobia The DSM will say its BPD My psychiatrist never said anything that I trust Just sent me love letters and written prescriptions In little yellow and white pills I spell out Diavian Is that what I am? All that lies ahead of me? My name means divine freedom But I feel like Icarus Falling towards God knows what I don't know anything really I repeat small sentences to myself When I have a hard time thinking When my mind is racing My feet are pacing My pen turning over and over the same thoughts to do lists, and stories Between my fingers “Reap what you sow Word is bond You are god's daughter, Diavian You are loved” God really is change And what am I ? Am I the eyes that sit behind my eyes ? The separate pair that see in complete dark Can hear itself in deafening noise In laughter and melancholy ingesting my life rather passively As I live And time itself passes through me Is she Diavian too? Are we really separate Habibti? The one at the seat of my being The one that is a being more than me Because I am just the botanical machine I respond to orders I rely on the rhythmic security of habitual living Does she sit at my heart and not my mind at all? Because everything I know was taught to me by this world a planet that taught me Artists are bums Artists are lovesick Artists are crazy Did she know that I was an artist? Even when I didn't want to Waiting for the day my mind And my heart came into union Knowing Id someday speak the language of both D for Diavian I for Icarus A gentle aviator
