I feel alienated and I don’t feel like writing a poem about it. I suppose I could attempt to write poetically though. Give it a little gusto. I’ve been holding back, trying to be someone else. Same old pattern. I predictably pretend to be socially acceptable while resisting with my whole heart every bit of this stagnation and ineptitude that is the socially acceptable life.
Do other people just be “themselves” and it just so happens that who “themselves” are is socially acceptable? I sit here absolutely convinced that I’ll have to relive one of the many times society has attempted to annihilate me for being “myself” if I dare be “myself”.
Real annihilation ok, not pretend annihilation.
I keep my opinions to myself and as much as possible, try not to have any.
I keep my preferences on the down low and my mouth shut about just about everything.
But don’t get me started.
I got so many of my treasures stored up in heaven they’re kicking me and my stuff out. Telling me go ‘do something’ like I’m somebody or something.
I’m noone and nothing just a noob on a quest throwing my energy hand into the center of the earth seeing how far things can be jerked.
(Pretty far as it were)
I believe there is a time and place for talking poetically in public, you see, cause a real person is easier to perceive.
Something you don’t have to be drunk for. A little bee in the bonnet of ordinary reality.
A graduation ceremony.
I believe sometimes you ought to dance down the aisles. Sometimes you really need to just stand in the middle of the street even if traffic has to wait an extra 30 seconds so you can make them all just track to the moment we are all sharing together. Just drill right into right where I am.
But maybe they are all already sharing their moments together. And I’ll just be interfering. Again. Because it really is just me that feels like something is missing. I must assume they are content with the shared moments of mundane survival and that any form of outside the box activity should of course be preapproved and sent through the filters of priming and predictability before it is released and makes a person FEEL or something. I feel like goddamn Truman. Trying my hardest to find a way to go off script.
There are moments I feel like a con, like a desperate fool, but mostly I feel like I want life to be fun. I want to throw some crazy into people’s lives.
I want to.
But I don’t think I’ll ever do it again.
I had my five minutes of spiritual fame. It should be enough. It should be. But I also still talk and make no sense. Even if it’s filtered for your viewing pleasure. And I want to talk and make no sense. I don’t always want to put my heart in a box of words that will keep you engrossed.
Maybe every once in awhile you could just read because I need you to. I need someone to listen. Even if it makes no sense to you and even if it’s for no other reason.
I know I am a soul. And sometimes that sum of a gun can’t be quiet!!
Or rhyme
or give you the gift of relatability.
Maybe you relate to not wanting to relate
and just wanting to feel what being enough actually looks like – no judgment, no discomfort, no fear cause you feel my heart and it’s never separate and you know how I roll so you can let me off the leash
in your presence
as nothing
maybe we don’t compete every third Thursday of the month and just listen closely for the new thing we haven’t heard before, totally ok with it not making sense cause sometimes words just need to be
freed
from
their
cages
Melissa LaFontaine The Blog 