you are actually not, museums in europe, are my biggest concern.

when I was a bit younger
actually a lot younger
as I am today
I was a ball of flames
an unhindered intensity
for the arts
the aesthetics
and yes I was a fan of the sciences
but they were just
the sciences.
when I was younger
whenever i met a being
the reads poetry
writes it even
watches the fertility of literature
of dried centuries old paint
of tiny, melancholic guitars
and weeps
had that internal waves
actual tides of the oceans
I would burst
I would be a collision of tears and realizations.
alas.
to freely be
amongst equivalently
uncanny
improper
company.
as if I could find a being
as if it could possibly be
that there is a soul
as soft and cotton and silk
pitifully so
as me.
I went to highschool
I joined social networks
I went to europe
I went to specific museums in italy
people would see
people like me
we wouldnt even greet
and I am them
and they are I
and I am not longer
 the epiphany
the miracle
I naively thought
I were,
and as ugly as it is was
the insignificance I felt
in the heat of a European
Tuscan sun
closed doors
all of us staring
at the artwork of others
we dont even look at eatch other
as we should
though we know
each of us wants to cry
and hold the other
we have been mended
into propriety.
now
I am olny a bit older
I am still ridiculously young
but I know
that my necessity
to weep and burst
weep and burst
to put forth beauty
that can help others
also weep.
is not much of anything.
as I grow older
maybe
I will think its alright.