You can’t place it, but you can’t put it out of your mind. You lay awake at night, mind a turmoil, and you wonder. You can’t be distracted; the mind sweeps back to the feeling. The feeling of complete dis-ease, discomfort, distaste for the situation, whatever it might be. Distrust, distance, possible disappointment.
But you can’t place what’s bothering you.
You don’t know what’s wrong.
You… just know… it’s wrong.
There’s no word to explain it, no face to put to it, no song to describe it. There’s nothing but the feeling of you running your hand over the back of your neck, wondering blankly.
Maybe I should listen to music. No song covers this.
Maybe I should sleep on it. No way I can sleep like this.
Maybe I should write something. I can’t be the only one with this feeling… can I?

Being in love is torment. Torment when you’re the only one. One more thing I need to do… Do you realize I’m in love with you? You walk by me every day, like always, like my painful, painful always. Always blind to what you have until you lose it. It doesn’t make sense, doesn’t feel right somehow… Somehow, after all this time, I’m still in love with you; you don’t know how much I’ve been through. Through all the things you’ve done, things you said, things you meant, I know. Know you from the inside out, your entire mind. Mind if I tell you what I know about you? You respect me, even if you don’t want to show it. It is unnerving to you that I am your female counterpart, exactly the same. Same fears, same lies, same tricks, same masks for the world, same flaws, same strengths, same you. You know your your **** doesn’t work on me; you’re afraid. Afraid like me, to notice... Notice how we pretend to hate each other,  tell the same lie to each other, pull each other’s strings in the same way. Way to go, you keep picking the wrong choice. Choice is yours from here. Here I am. Am I insane? Insane to have told you in the past, insane to love you in the present, insane to dream of you in the future?

You know how perfect we are together, how we fit each other like a hand in a hand, a head to a shoulder, a kiss…

To us.
We are born, we strive to live.
We live, we strive to learn.
We learn, we strive to improve.
We improve, we strive to stretch.
We stretch, we strive to strengthen.
We strengthen, we stand to fight.
We fight, we try to fix.
We… can't fix, we strive to keep.
We lose, we refuse to weep.
We weep, we strive to heal.
We heal, we strive to live.
We live, we discover love.
We love, we strive not to bend.
We bend, we don’t want to break.
We break, we strive to mend.
We mend… and we do it all over again.

It's 1:11am. The silence is beautiful. I'm watching the snow fall outside my window, wondering when I had been in such a cold, warm, quiet environment the last time. Time is slowing down and there's nothing out there, nothing but myself, my little dog and my mother sleeping in the next room. It's quiet, peaceful, empty. I am not bound by people. I am not bound by feelings. I am not bound by myself. I am free. I choose to keep the peace, keep the silence and the stillness as the storm snarls in glory and whips away warm nights.

It's 1:22 am. I hear midnight retreating, morning approaching... The spirit trudges on through the snow, boot heels clicking against eachother, scarf flowing in the snow's reckless dances. Hair blows wildly with the screams of the wind. Eyes open, heated embers sizzle to life, a burning glow  through any storm.

It's 1:36 am. I don't know what to feel, I don't know how I feel.
I should be going to bed, I don't want to.
I lay in bed, tired, not tired.
I am cold, I am not cold.
I can see the snow. I can't see much because of it.
My eyes are closing, my phone slips out of my hands... I hear the sounds, Sleep is within me; I am taken over by now...

We're raising a generation of victims, waiting for a hero who’s not out there. The hero is within. The hero is dead; murdered through decades and decades of suppression, of being squashed to a pulp... There's no telling what it can do to a man, to the deep interior of the mind. It's no wonder, after centuries of the media squandering us into their impossible molds, that many of us, and our inner heroes, have been mentally eliminated; only the outer shell of our body remains. It's no wonder we let it all happen... demise and lies all around, all our fault. Because we didn't take a stand. And most of us aren't even planning to. Therein lies the problem: if you're not going to stand up to the bully, be ready to take the beating. There's no way around it, nothing behind it but more, more of what you don't want, more of what you're too much a of a coward to face, more. A blow to the head, a blow to the heart, a blow to the neck and you're dead.
Get out there, get it done. Stop regretting, start doing. Nobody's going to make your dreams come true; nobody but you. You're a powerhouse; you may not feel like it but you are. You're here, wherever that is. And you can get further, wherever that is.

So get to work. Get strong. Get smart.  Get good.

I’m trying to block it out. Really, I am. But I can feel it creeping in on me, wrapping around me and slowly suffocating me. This disabling sadness is crawling under my skin, leaving goosebumps behind.
I can’t take it…
I… can’t…

I’m trying to block it out. Really, I am. I’m just so tired of not being good enough, of wanting something else, of being powerless. I can’t stand it another day. I can’t stand to be a disappointment in everything I do and am. I can’t stand to be told I do everything wrong. I can’t stand to pretend another day.
I can’t take it…
I… can’t…

I’m trying to block it out. Really, I am. I don’t want to be ‘fine’ anymore. I don’t want to smile for the cameras, though they want me to be happy. They change their lenses to understand, but I don’t want them to see what I’ve fallen into. I can’t tell them the full story.
I can’t take it…
I… can’t…

I’m trying to block it out. Really, I am. But I’m so sick of it. I’m so sick of being sad, of being angry, of being confused, of being hurt. I’m so sick of it. I hate it. I hate it. I’m sick of myself, of not being who I want to be, of being too weak to stand up to myself, for myself.
I can’t take it…
I… can’t…

I’m trying to block it out. Really, I am. But I realized that blocking it out is not the answer. Blocking it out is the problem. When you block it out, you block everything out. You block everyone out. You block out the problem, and you block out the solution. Don’t block it out.
I can do this…
I… can…