"flare"

i felt i felt a feeling
and it wanted out
and so i let it out

i believed in the beauty of it
believed without seeing it
the way it found its shape
naturally
a clawing flame
a spreading blossom
the traces shaping wind

and you said i had a flare
a flare for it
and i was happy
and you were happy
to leave it at that

but small time passed
and it was apparent
that neither you nor i
were content with flares
and expression needed
refinement and a
continual abstraction
of some subtler quality,

and what's more
something called sincerity.

flares are brilliant,
but i needed to burn long
and bleed.

all true art is about bleeding
it seems
after it stops being fun
and natural
after the flare is gone...

but i miss the days
when i still could feel
and all i had to do
was let it out

let me out.