When I was very young,
my biggest fear was of being possessed by a demon.
Once I realized that demons are just a superstitious figment of a self-loathing imagination,
my biggest fear became of going crazy.
Once I realized that "crazy" was just a political term used to categorize those who live outside the social norm,
my biggest fear then became of dying alone.
When I realized that I'd always carry the memory of everyone who had ever made an impact on me,
I found out that life is profoundly beautiful,
and I'm no longer afraid to die.

I carried my memories like a bag full of bricks.
I'm over feeling nauseous and vertigo makes me sick.
Fell down some deep wells.
I've crawled out of the abyss.
They say it stares back,
but it's nothing I'll miss.

The skin wrapped so elegantly across these bones of mine
acts as a barrier
separating me from everything else,
as long as I keep my lips pressed firmly to each other
I can manage to prevent
spilling my guts
that's best for every one I think.
No matter how I yearn for the relief of pressure
when my heart tries to escape my chest
at best
and at least relive the flood of my thoughts.

I ought know
wearing this suit of skin isn't enough
glacial blue eyes are an open well
speaking of sorrow to anyone with
a decent pair of eyes to tell.
even my perfectly placed smiles
pale under that shadow.
the utter vastness of the loss I feel
reminds me how large I am
regardless of my frequency of meals.
the expanse in my chest is so immense
it seems I am tearing at every seam.
most every thing I have held dear,
slipping through the fraying tear.

voices from limited perspectives telling me how I ought to feel.
quivering with anticipation to mention
my over reaction to small things,
at small hills appearing in my waking dreams
as vast mountain ranges,
imagining tragedy in the  frame of my yesterdays
and through the lenses of life's strangeness;
preparing to head out with the Donner party
while you take stroll up a grassy knoll basket in hand,
while i'm measuring out my morality as meticulously as grains of sand,
and you
never once wondering the weight of all the other burdens I am carrying
and have carried try to tell me, i'm insane
for preparing for rain in dry summer heat.
with no one to share my pain.
I assure you i'm not insane
I just go through my life living as me.

but you have not lived the life I have lead
and dare not to spread the weight.
at worst,
I like to think of myself
As husk of skin wrapped around a strength unhindered by my physical size
existing out of the vastness within my emptying heart.
I will be alone to rejoice at my discovery.
there are a small number of things that can not be taken away
and it is those things I have discovered,
no weight can crush me.
I have carried the world on my frailest shoulder
I have been trapped and many have unloved me
but my chest still rises
in lows and highs
and no one has ever taken the endless opportunities
that dwell  deep within the days I have never seen,
but they come, and are always coming
they are the possibilities of things I have never even considered.
And while most days I feel I have not but withered and fallen farther from things
another piece of me fly's and rings.
godless or not I have found my faith.
welling up inside me trying slowly to fill this space.
to fill me with humanity.
I Have faith that things change, are always changing.
These feelings and this space will inevitably cease to exist as surly
as the way I miss the presence of my loved ones on this turning ball in space
my love will outlive that pain
and like so many other things
being lonely is a temporary state.
that is the strength within me.
life tested for durability
I will endure. I endure everything.

I have ideas that never seem to stick
Like a spark that falters on a half-lit wick
I think “Eureka! Wow, I've done it again!”
But when I mold my thought-child that’s exactly when
I get booted off for no ticket on this train of thought
And the project derails into an old vacant lot
That lot is a notebook at the foot of my bed
It’s labeled “ideas” but it should read “drop dead”
My ideas are all just orphaned on paper
Their father held interest, but started to taper
“I’ll get to it sometime!” but no clock reads “some”
I just like the feeling of ideas under thumb
Is it arrogance? I hope not, just a stream of dumb luck
Or maybe I’m just afraid of being told that I ****