I'm not like them,
I don't drink, smoke, or **** like them.
I'm not that girl,
I don't look, dream, or think like her.
I'm not like him, or her, or them.
I'm not any of this, so why am I here?

Rising from the sand at low tide,
The shipwreck’s spars, brown wet, decaying
Reaching like skeletal fingers, grasping
For one last piece of the breaking daylight
Tentacles of seaweed, woven
Wrapped around decaying planks
Anchoring it firmly
To Davy Jones’ Locker
Barnacle encrusted planks
Lie twisted, turned, unnatural
Frozen in a final plea of mercy
Before white tipped monsters
Crashed across the bow,
Splitting,  tearing masts
Sending it to the murky depths

The moon is now bright and full
showering silver romance,
to the leaves of tree so dull.

A cricket humming his chants
deep in meditation behind
the dark unknown shrub's branch.

Somewhere in a nest, a hatchling can't sleep
letting out feeble hunger cries
her mother did not fetch enough to feed.

While on my walk, I see those eyes
hiding behind a trunk, peeping
I assure it safety, I know may be lying

Night is the time for them to be,
struggling to enjoy independence and security
this unending night leading them to the unknown
what will remain I wonder at the crack of dawn.

I enjoy distance
Long drives with no destination
Music blaring,  miles growing

I enjoy distance
Long walks to nowhere
The peace calms my restless soul

I enjoy distance
Little steps each day
Away from difficult situations

I enjoy distance
Between people and places
And me

I enjoy distance
It gives perspective
Emancipation

I enjoy distance
I also enjoy coming home
When distance has run its course