The Never-ending Story

One question answered and not even
24 hours
until another one just like it arises
same question
different person
different place
if i could bottle up all the self doubt
that constantly sits on my shoulders
making me heavier and slower
and put it in a rocket and send it off
where it would float around to bother
no
one

i
would

the cycle continues
loneliness is not a thing
or even a state of being or of mind
it is a place, and a live monster
one that comes out at night
or early in the morning
or anytime you say goodbye
and even if you know you have someone
who will always love you
it manages to creep in
in the silence
where we find ourselves most exposed
stripped of our shell of shiny paint
and our cushy padding and insolation
until we are in
isolation
exposed to the elements
left to the howling wind
and the drenching rain
and the searing sun
until at last we have rusted
and worn down
to but our empty cores
and loneliness, that monster
sits and watches
protected by the things it has taken from us
though it is there
it is not company
and i'm sure you know this
it is a simple truth
it is not about how many are around you
but about who is around you
a stuffy crowded room can be more lonely
than an open empty field

and access to the world
full of people
with no one to talk to
is the
loneliest
of all

Heart it races

sometimes i wish i was the only one on this world
for just a minute or two
so i could yell at the top of my lungs
sing whatever i want
run for as long as i want
and say whatever i want to say
with no consequences
no one to complain
no one to comment
no one to care
then i feel like the very truest me
would be exposed
i would become so vulnerable
so translucent that tears would mean
exactly what they are meant to
and singing would sound
its purest
and yelling would be
the most expressive
and i would be
me

then i would want the rest of the world back
so that i could live knowing that the very core of me
had been set free
and no one had experienced it or known it
my potential was let loose
and my character went running
and now it is all hidden inside of me
as i smile
content

The Past

the questions are always there
no matter your state of life
but is it a pandora's box
to be opened if you venture
for the answers?

or is it considered closure

dangerous

selfish

I don't know

is it all just poetic justice
coming to bite us in the butt
or is it bigger than that
or smaller
or non existant

Being alone

It is so interesting how we are designed.
It was not good for man to be alone.
In this way I am like man.
Living amongst people so constantly that
I cannot do without
To sit in silence by myself
No one around
No dog even
Is to destroy my inner being
Even not in silence
So I go to the most crowded places
and sit
Not necessarily with anyone
but around someone
So I do not go insane with loneliness
Even one person seems to be one too little
The more, the merrier?
The most the best
Only one other person is left in this room...
I think I'll head outside soon.

to be married

in my arms he lays, chest against my stomach, head against my shoulder, breathing against my chest

i watch his head rise with my own breathing and feel the warmth of his on me, in sync

i cannot imagine anything more serene or more amazing than this moment

resting, i don't know if he is asleep or not but i will be soon

and the warmth from his body is now my body's warmth

and the beat of his heart is now my heart's beat

and the life in his body is now the life in mine

we have become one and i will sleep soundly, even if just for tonight

This is why i paint

There it lays

blank

open to any possibility my mind and hand can create

asking to be something it is not

asking to tell stories

to show tears

or joys

or any untold emotion

and i listen to its pleas

i sit down

i begin to draw

never knowing where my pencil will take me

my mind rushes with ideas, images, colors, lines, shapes

they flow through me

out of me

onto the begging, blank canvas

and then

then the magic comes

a burst of color from an ever eager brush

strokes and form 

a rhythm begins on the blank canvas

my painting slowly becomes a song

it sings and pulsates

every note a new stroke of color

and when it's all done

i have created

and it has been created

arlington national cemetary

we step through laughing

and then become solemn

the air itself seems sad

thick, hard to breathe

and there they are

pillars and pillars of white graves

all with a name

as we make our way up

we dare not speak a word

we trudge up the hill

tears creep up into my eyes

and i look out

on each grave

i imagine, as i do normally

but more painfully as each grave

forms into the person it holds

all in uniform

some from a long time ago

some very recent

each stares ahead as white as their gravestone

so many are so young

i clench the hand of my own military man

we are so young

we are so lucky

we are back together

some are older, standing prouder and stronger

the younger ones have pride too

but behind the pride sits fear

i turn to my own

"you should be proud of what you are"

"i am" he says looking out "i am"

and holds me close