2025-06-24 16:54![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
theredoesnotexist
theredoesnotexistI am a song you like to sing.
Maybe not the one you’d win awards for
but the melody you think to hum
when your room is quiet and your voice is bored,
I can form in the back of your throat like a muscle memory
I can be the sound if you design the tune.
You are the poet that writes me.
I am your words upon the page,
nothing without your hands,
before you devised my flow and meter nothing
after you close the book nothing
my meaning only the perception the eye gives it.
Who am I to disagree with the stroke of your brush
who am I to rebel against the scrape of your chisel
when your hands are all that I am.
You weave me with pride one day
I will be the artist’s favorite tapestry.
This is not love
I am not me, I am made of you
it is not a kindness
unless you sing me in major key.
𝇅
Maybe not the one you’d win awards for
but the melody you think to hum
when your room is quiet and your voice is bored,
I can form in the back of your throat like a muscle memory
I can be the sound if you design the tune.
You are the poet that writes me.
I am your words upon the page,
nothing without your hands,
before you devised my flow and meter nothing
after you close the book nothing
my meaning only the perception the eye gives it.
Who am I to disagree with the stroke of your brush
who am I to rebel against the scrape of your chisel
when your hands are all that I am.
You weave me with pride one day
I will be the artist’s favorite tapestry.
This is not love
I am not me, I am made of you
it is not a kindness
unless you sing me in major key.
𝇅
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