I want you
To notice me.
Not for what I have done.
Not for the money I’ve made.
Not even for my art.
No.
I want you to notice me.
Me.
The man behind the artifice.
The man behind the smile.
The man behind the mask.
The man writing these words,
Knowing full well that you will never see them.
The man waiting for change,
Knowing full well that you are stuck in your ways.
The man who’s desperately seeking acknowledgement from a dry well.
I want you
To notice me.
But I know you won’t.
How could you?
You, who was never there.
You, who looked the other way.
You, who set impossible standards.
You, who never wanted anything to do with me.
Isn’t it funny that despite all of this,
I still want you
To notice me?
Notice me.
Me.