Audience and Actors

Have you ever been so lonely you entertained joining a cult? Just kidding. But seriously, I have come to understand that I don’t want to always be alone. I want to be interesting to another person. My boss patted me on the back, and I flinched. It’s been so long since I’ve been touched in a caring way, by another adult, that I reacted in a manner to protect myself. I have become hardened in my self reliance when all I want is to be soft. I want to trust and be trusted. A million disappointments have left me cold and suspicious. I enjoy being light-hearted and silly and goofy and intense and contrary. I want to share some space and time with another person who can see those things and not be scared. Or be scared and do it anyway. I wonder if there are people that know themselves anymore. I have ambition to grow. I am not satisfied with stagnation. I would like a secure place to start. There are disappointments and differences in opinion. I look forward to those. My history has been full of so much more than those. I’ve built coping mechanisms that don’t serve me. I feel like my subconscious has taken over, unbeknownst to me, to protect me from injury. Unfortunately, the take-over has me all by myself with holes in my logic writing a plot that’s going in circles. I don’t need to be saved. I want a cohort. Is it asking too much to want some stimulation amidst the humdrum? I suck at small talk. I want to know if there’s anything in there when I talk to people. Can we just skip the talk about weather and what body part hurts today. I care for your wellbeing, but that’s surface stuff. Please know yourself enough to have something to say. Interested is interesting. Shit, let’s argue instead of sitting in silence on our fucking phones. How are you not bored to tears? I see so many people drinking the dopamine koolaid from their screens. The sad part is that I have finally succumbed to draw of it too because I will get a connection one way or another, even if it’s false. We all will.

Two Like Grey

Grey revives elements forgotten.
Devise unspoiled expanse.
Bright white vibrates the sternum.
Future wishes inject brilliance into humdrum.
Stars settle silver streams, steering instinct.
Grey’s dark clings palpable, not lurid.
Nothing grotesque flurries through inner workings.
Hunger vivifies void.
Inertia corners warm craving.

Little Love

I know her struggle parallels mine. She tries to figure it out by listening to bad advice; to reconcile unrequited self acceptance amidst so much noise. Suggestions rain down like anvils. “You have a roof over your head. You live in a country where school shootings happen often, but you don’t have to worry about having a bomb dropped on your head.” Little love and even less belief fuel the fire in her mind. How can I keep telling her this will pass? She already knows to point out that it will come back. She consumes my details, and purges them right back out. The very same way I do. We are in this together. That fact is not fortunate or comforting for me. I’m glad that it is for her. Wishing to bring relief while spinning my wheels, does nothing for her or me. Be present, solidly present. For what? More of this shit? No thanks. I want the beauty, I want the magic, I want the wonder that I see as her to be visible to her.

Lost With Strophe

I am lost with Strophe. She is lost too. 
We suppose it is better to be lost together than alone.
Strophe possesses a nature that confuses the masses.
She encompasses a desire to bring intentions to action.
Strangely, she assigns isolation to singularity.
At the best of times, and for the particular, correctness satisfies her.
At the worst of times, Strophe feels misplaced, displaced.
People do not recognize the surmise is the demise. 

These days, her apostles are few.
Adrift in ambiguity, I do not know if we will ever be found.