When did I become such a liar?



I lie to myself in the morning.

“This is how you are,

Who you want to be.”

Walk with swag,

Never staggering.

Talk with boldness,

Never stuttering.

But is how I act a true representation

Of who my soul really is?



Going in circles

I try to find myself.



I lie to myself in the night.

“You never needed anyone,

You’re free when alone.”

Dance by yourself,

Never clinging.

Talk to yourself,

Never needing.

But why then does my heart hurt when you are not at my side?



Jumping at shadows

I am caught lonely.



Empty masks to cover my flaws.

Fake smiles to hide my need for love.

Why do I hide behind the facade,

Pretending to have found myself

in the dark?

My arms are not long enough to reach.
My memory not clear enough to remember.
It’s yearning.
No,
it’s longing.
Somehow it’s stronger, more anxious.
My mind recounts it again and again.
To the point of fixation,
almost constraint.
Longing even, is too weak a word.
I find myself in the incessant search
for shoulds and coulds,
it hurts more than mere wanting.
It’s aching.
No,
even that word is wrong.
No,
it’s regret.

I’m hungry.



A common complaint.

Every mother sighs

Hearing her three old whine it for the tenth time.



But it is more than just a physical demand.

I hunger for the knowledge

that many deem so obtainable

Yet always seems out of reach.

I hunger for the confidence

Of knowing who to be and where to go.

I hunger for connection

for friends who know me by name

and sound of voice.

I hunger for purpose

the path to follow.



Yet no one seems aware to feed these.

I remain with

Empty mind

Empty arms

Empty heart

Is there not also food for the soul?



I’m hungry.

Grandeur. Elegance. Vanity.
He strutted through streets reveling
in his glory and majesty.

Hail,
he was lauded.
“Cassius,”
his name whispered through crowds.
What an honor it was
to cross paths with he.

The luster of pursuit.
Yet his eyes were
caught up in another
behind his Lady’s back.

Streets cleared before him.
Tails of jewels,
perfumes, and roses following
closely behind him,
on bent servants’ backs.

Riches
he held. Fame
he knew. Beauty
he owned. Power
he supposed greater even than the king’s.
Cassius had everything.

Even the greatest cannot
pay the poor enough to die in his stead.
A thoughtless mother
to name her son the name that
meant nothing.
But surely,  his legacy would
live on in the world.
Certainly
it could not go on without him.

Surrounded by the throng,
his money filling their purses.
Empty, now, were their hearts.
His soul spiraling,
leaving his earthly world.
Cassius, with his honor and prestige,
was gone away
forever.

The bustling crowds remained.
The stars shone on.
Children's games continued.
The sun pressed on in its descent.
And the world forgot his name.

The world is at my fingertips.
I am an architect,
building my masterpiece in the skyline.
I am an artist,
painting the world into a work of fiction.

I seek to name every star in the sky,
to measure the emptiness in between.
I wish to speak every tongue,
to finally find words adequate
to describe the beauty before my eyes.
The pen scratching the paper,
the ticking of the clock keeping time,
are the symphony
accompanying my life.

Though
it often feels to be more conjecture than evidence.
Does the pattern of science
really improve our understanding?
There has to be more
than what is limited to time and space.
Nothing I can feel with my hand,
see with my eyes,
hear with my ears,
ever measured me any happiness.

The very existence of this world,
the breath rushing in and out of my lungs,
a heart thundering in my chest,
are evidence of a bigger,
“something” more.