The Person I Never will Be

Who I am, is who I am.
Time flowing like a stream,
cutting across life
and making channels as its own.

I did not speak to the water
urging it forward,
nor did I dig to change the stream.

I woke up and saw myself
sitting here
and sitting there,
pages torn and confused
making me this throne
on a grassy hill.

I am so exhausted of words
and perfect little promises.

There is a voice speaking to quit
and I so desperately want to feel
and understand what it means to live.

I miss the tress
and calls of birds
from under the carpet of moss
and trees ancient as all the ties.

Point?
Purpose?

Look while you can.
This is all there ever will be.
Living in the shadows of fear
and imposed guilt
have left a broken
and wounded shell.

No longer can you control me
or tell me what I am not
because I am I.

Your permission was never asked
or wanted,
so live as you will
in your picture perfect bubble
and breath in your decay.

I hurt.
I am exhausted.
I feel so much pain.
The pain is more real than real
and so here we are.

Goodnight.

Quote of the Day:

“Since my earliest childhood a barb of sorrow has lodged in my heart. As long as it stays I am ironic -- if it is pulled out I shall die.”
-Soren Kierkegaard

I really hate the feeling of being a placeholder.
I know my life has more meaning than that...but...
Sometimes...I just really do not know.

I can sit here, paint a picture with these words...develop and make something and what is the point?