Peel Me

My body is like a sack of potatoes
Hibernated, lumpy and out of place in certain contexts
Borne from the earth, wrought from dirt,
Drawing from the elements to refine myself
For a purpose I cannot fathom or comprehend
Dirty and raw, it must be scoured and peeled
Individually, as it is comprised of not one but many
Individual chonks of potential unaware of their
Individual worth

Jitterbug

Creature jitters inside me
Or really it's just me jitters
My jitters
Just vibrating, brimming with some sort of
energy?
Something like that
A heightened sense of awareness of an internal construct
propped up, made up entirely
out of speculation
I can't help but hold myself in place
Unable to move
one way or another
Just shiver and wait
Until I'm jittered out
So I can give in
To exHaustion

Morning person?

Being in the morning when you're not a morning person is a surreal experience. The world looks different. In the winter, it's much darker, more damp. In the summer it's cool and refreshing. There is a particular pattern to the traffic. Cars come by at a steady pace, with a comfortable amount of space in between each other. And watching the morning progress, as the tempo increases, as your world warms up, you can't help but feel a sense of growth. You see the world change and you know that you can change as well.

me?

Should there be a plan for everyone
or at least/only for those
without one:
the aimless?
Do we seek meaning
instinctively,
yearning to understand the ultimate why,
or do most of us just slip into the day to day,
the grinding mundane normal?
All I have are questions, no answers.
I seek satisfaction, not meaning.
I want comfort, not purpose.

Unhappy

Why do I feel the need to meet a certain standard? I only wish to be happy, but my happiness depends so much on the actions of others. I put my happiness in the hands of others, in the hands of things I cannot control. Even when happiness is within my grasp, I keep it from myself. I put it on a pedestal, leaving it high up in the rafters, pining away at how unattainable it is all the while refusing to acknowledge the ludicrousness of the situation. Am I fundamentally broken? As I ask myself that question I hear it resonating across the gap between us. It seems to be a question popular amongst the doubters and the questioners, the resigned and the hopeless. It is a question asked only by those who are. You think therefore you are. You question therefore you are the answer. Perfection does not ask itself whether it is flawed. So I am flawed. That needs not be a barrier to happiness, yet I make it so. I used it to erect the fence around the pedestal I crafted from mistakes and criticisms of dubious grade. The lush linen cloth draped around the pillar I weaved from negative thoughts, forsaken hopes, anxiety driven fears.
When I can viscerally feel all the effort I put into building this effigy how can I bare to take it down? I look up at that pure white orb perched up top, its glistening light contrasting with the dull silver base and dark accents. I look down at my hands, calloused and scared, soiled from the work I put into my trap. To touch the orb would be to dirty it, or so I tell myself as I continue adding to the shrine. Nothing has been more a part of who I am. I built this place deep within me. But there is only so much space in myself. Only so much can be added before the pedestal tips and my work comes crashing down. And with it the orb. The light would fall, the shadows would flee, and everything would turn white right before it hits the floor, shattering, evaporating into air. It is a thought I've turned over more than once. Losing the light is terrible, but its end is so glorious. Losing the chance to hold the light in yourself is unbearable, but so is not being worthy of touching it. If the decision comes I don't know what I'll choose. I keep adding more adornments, but also I've taken some away. Maybe someday the pedestal will be more accessible. Maybe someday I'll find another place for my happiness.

Am I a Poet?

I'm not a poet of words
more of madness
of reaching into the unknown subconscious
seeking to dredge something out of the depths
I don't wax poetic
just describe my feelings as best I can
feelings I can't capture in its entirety
the rhythm of my thoughts beating, badump

What you want

Contracts and negotiations

set the foundation for clarity

and satisfaction

or at least to settle.

If you don't know what you want

or you don't ask for it

you are open to disappointment.

Understand what you want;

seek what you want;

you deserve 

to be content.