You know what would be miraculous.
The comprehension of reality among the populace in general.
That would be a miracle.
We live in an age where these twenty something tweens believe that they are all,
One second from stardom.
Newsflash!
It doesn't matter how many people
Follow you on Twitter,
Friend you on Facebook,
Or how many followers you have for your YouTube channel,
If you can't find a single original thought for yourself
In that pop music filled-
Romance and Action movie watching-
Book of the month club reading-
Head of yours,
If you can't think and feel for yourself
YOU ARE NOT A STAR
You are a hack.
You are just normal.
Like the rest of us.
So stop trying to get discovered,
And start
Thinking,
Feeling,
And Creating
Something for yourself.
Something for the world to see.
Something original.
Because you can't get by on the coat tails of others forever.
Sooner or later you will need to survive on your own.
And then when you've created something on your own.
Something worthwhile.
Something from your heart.
Then you have a chance.
A small chance,
But still a chance
To be a star.

She said, "Why can't you just be normal."
In her accusatory tone.
I knew my answer wouldn't faze her
Still I felt it important to defend my case.

"Normal huh,
Is that how I was raised,
Is that what you want from me,
Is mediocrity something I should strive for."
Her gaped mouth tightened,
But before she could form her rebuttal,
I began again.

"I want more than normal,
I want neon lit dreams,
On a high-def highway.
So that even in the darkest night,
They'll be illuminated in bright crystal.
I want more from myself than anyone could ever hope to beg out of me."

Her face had softened by now,
Shoulders dropping
As if taking their first vacation in almost 2 decades.
Her back was now lost in the sofa
Seeing my opening,
I continued.

"I don't have normal interests.
I don't have a normal family.
I couldn't see normal
From the highest peak of my life,
And even if I could, I wouldn't go on that journey.
I want more."

By now her face had changed in my eyes.
A muddy blur of someone stuck,
Stuck wishing for something.
Something that she lost over the years.
She lost control,
And so she still grasped
For what she had remembered it feeling like.

There had been a coup.
A new ruler had emerged.
Now, finally ruled by the hands and feet
That would build this path.
And walk this journey.
Regardless of plan or purpose.
My future was mine.

Sometimes I wish these tears,
Were held in my head
that they were packaged and labeled
Citing date, cause, and emotion.
I'd scribble box upon box with something like:

Date: December 25th 2005
Cause: First Christmas Without Dad
Emotion: Misty Eyed Sadness.
Or
Date: June 8 2002
Cause: Recognition. Of a Job well done.
Emotion: Humbled Elation

Sure the boxes would stack up.
Reaching heights unfathomable.
And so I'd sort.
Keeping each emotion in their own piles.
Neatly selecting which ones to put in the front stacks
And which ones to keep hidden from view,
So as not to accidentally expose my problems,
Or remind myself of things I wish to forget.
Instead I'd neatly stack them out of sight.
Perhaps the stacks will fall one day.
Cluttering my head.
It's possible
Some may even be forced open.
Forcing me to repack and
Restack.

I was broken years ago,
Shattered on the ground.
I looked for help to pick me up,
But no one was around.
As my pieces went overlooked,
They became so spread about
It was hard to find myself
So spread, my future was in doubt.
Some of me stayed in the middle
Crushed under sole and foot.
Other pieces hid in corners
Avoiding more pain or hurt.
The last of me escaped you see
It was pushed under the shelf.
Those pieces would never be seen again.
Causing me to be less of myself
I wished someone would clean me up
Put my pieces together again.
But here I laid under toe and heel.
Spreading further and further again.
My hope is one day to gather myself
To put together what's left to see.
It might take awhile to find them all
These shattered pieces of me.

"She just had to say it,
She couldn't keep it to herself,
I knew we were in a rough patch
But this, her ex." I need time to think.
As I sit down on the steps outside
I light, take a drag, and blow

"This can't be my fault, can it?
With all we've been through?
How could she throw this away,
For what, a fling!?" My clouded judgment stews.
The steps become uncomfortable
But I light, take a drag and blow.

"What I should do is bust this door down,
And force her to tell me why.
Why am I not good enough for you?
Why would you throw what we have away!
Tell me why!" And as the stairs began to poke and ****.
I light, take a drag, and blow.

"This is rediculous!" And as I rose from the stoop.
"There's just got to be a reason!
You don't do something like this without a reason!"
Were the words that flooded out of my mouth,
As I pushed our once inviting door open,
And I light, take a drag and blow

"You owe me this, look at me!"
She just continued packing a box
full of our things, our lives, her lies.
So as I flung the box to the ground.
Grabbing her shoulders I screamed "Why!!"
Just light, take a drag, and blow

Her fiery stare was more telling
Than any word that would follow from her lips.
"We haven't been right for years.
You've changed, I've changed."
And I knew there was no more I could do.
Except light, take a drag and blow.

She continued with, "I can't believe you're surprised.
Where do you think I've been going?
You are worse at keeping a wife,
than you are at keeping a job," she sliced.
She was right. I sat down on our former love seat to think
Just light, take a drag and blow.

I helped her pick up the scattered contents,
Of the box I had strewn to the floor.
******* each lie, my ears teary,
I knew this was it. He pulled up at 9.
She left with him at 10, my heart sulked in the corner
I just took a drag and blew.

Something clouds my head and heart.
Creating an emotional *******.
A beggar
Limping and crawling from place to place
I try to feel
But I can't
It's drained my heart
I collect alms in the shapes of tear drops and hearts.
Hoping to someday walk again
"Perhaps he did this to himself,"
They'll say as they pass me and ignore.
"What would he do with, what we hand him out,"
As they excuse away their indifference.
Little do they realize
That just one lift
One helping hand
That would make all the difference.