When I was a kid,
I was in school where they tried to shut a lid.

Don't look out the window,
Don't talk, gossip or willow,

Don't walk when it's unnecessary,
Sit down and study.

To which I said,
Nothing, but by body differed so it lead.

Lead to canes on the knuckles from people who were educated in language,
And knee after knee for not being able to achieve due to emotional baggage.

The cycle was endless but it didn't seem like much,
I suppose that was the healing of a mother's touch.

Silent, held back and calm.
I sat like a product on a shelf after shelf, Zandubalm.

I learnt its okay to have nothing to say,
And forgot to learn communication, dismay.

Dismay discovered later on when people I liked,
They spoke to me and my anxiety spiked.

Bread of that paranoia and blissfully ignorant,
I found photography which checked every box I couldn't.

I call it an experiment to claim I have no control,
But that's just a lie to explore more and more.

Thorn after thorn I realized and picked,
One by one the words came; sometimes easy and quick.

My personality I gently form(somewhat),
With more photos than words(my expression it's about!)

So what you feel I think is related to self hate,
When I point a camera at you and you realize it's too late.

A thorn you may choose to be in my flesh(a mistake),
But I do what I do, maybe of habit; of being born a mistake.

Read these photos in the spaces less inked,
Tell me how you feel and if your organs sink.

If it doesn't I will stop photographing you,
But if it does you