I do a lot to avoid discomfort. I’ve had habits, dependencies, addictions and resolve. I’m preventing myself from doing something bad more times than I’ve done the bad thing. The bad things I’ve done often pale in comparison to the truly unkind. But I feel everything the people around me feel. I can’t exist without knowing both sides of the struggle because that line in the middle is exactly where I want to be. I have a personality of extremes and depths of the ocean. That’s a lot of terrain to cover in a human lifetime. I’ve kept my mouth shut long enough about the things I don’t know about. It’s time to talk about the things I do know about.  

I’m really different.  It’s not as simple as Frost’s path not taken.  I live on that path.  I identify on a macro-cosmic scale.  I don’t know if that’s because I’m that far away from everything else or if my mind expansion projects have yielded ground.  It could also be the crazy.  I’m not supposed to call it that but my flavor of mentally ill resonates loco.

There have been so many different types of influences around me recently.  The wolves have caught a scent of fear and if I slip up, they might whiff some blood.  I’m not interested in fame or diamonds.  I’m not materialistic or vain.  I just want the freedom to be my beautiful self and hope my survival brings someone joy.  My determination has crested like a tidal wave and I’m still crashing down too hard on the shore to know what I might be wrecking.  I can feel the pain, even though I can’t see it.

Destruction comes before the creation.  New things include the good change too.  Laws of physics, conservation of matter… stuff like that.  Being open to change doesn’t make it less painful.  Like an amicable divorce.  Settling for liking something instead of loving it is the curse of the middle class.  Preceded by giant grand-parents that fought wars and invented industries, we are the trickle-down generation.  A diffusion of social justice principles and baby boomer insecurity we are more caught up with gender roles than what our retirements might look like.  Should I stay in a place just because it was made for me?

I don’t actually want to be in the presence of the people I care about as often as they might want to see me.  Most of my value is attributed to my appearance.
It just is.  Short of self-mutilation, I can’t do anything about that.  Want to get close to me, appreciate my mind.  Appreciate the art of perspective and support what I’m trying to do with my time.  I don’t tap away at a keyboard because it’s relaxing.  I do this because my other option is to feel like killing myself.  For real though, I’ve got something to say.  I’m going to say it even if no one can hear me.