the first 28 years of my life
were spent
trying to figure out
what life was all about,
and I spent every moment I could
trying to do so,
only to realize
I have no idea what I'm doing

Some of that time, however,
was spent observing others.
Some of which are my elders,
some of them professionals,
most my age or younger.
And I came to the
realization that,
most of them, if not all
don't have any idea what they are doing
either.

Then I began to wonder
(and still do to this day)
if anyone,
anywhere,
has any idea what they are doing.
And I realize
that the answer
is
no.

I heard a song
on the ride home from work
about how
love is unstoppable.

Let me change my mind
and I'll stop love,
and stop loving.
That may stop your heart
when I stop mine.

And then where is your love at?

Stopped.

At least for me.

the sun goes down without caring about me.
trees sway in a breeze that doesn’t touch my skin.
Birds chirp to each other, unaware of my existence:
somewhere and old couple I’ll never meet are enjoying each others company,
a younger couple I passed by on my way home from work are arguing,
a cat just took a ****, and that cat will never see my face.
Someone in another state just made a sandwich I won’t eat.
Someone in another country just said something I’ll never hear
or understand.
Something on another planet just moved, ever-so-slightly to the left.
And I can’t move it back.
I can’t do anything.
And if I move, I can’t do anything from where I just was.
But you’re there, doing things I can’t because I am not there.
You’re one up on me. And as long as we never meet you always will be.
You know who you are.

The fingers bleed
and burn a little bit
but it’s all worth it.
To know someone else
sees things the way you do,
if only partially.
trying to fathom
how many people
may see what you’ve created.
Inspiration.  Courage.  Confidence.
In myself and in others.
It hurts to carry on sometimes,
but you keep pushing
because you know you have to
make it.
And if others feel they
can make it too, because of
what you’ve done, there are few
better feelings than
knowing you’ve helped the world
by helping yourself.

I am your friend, I am your son.
But do not claim to know me.
I am your lover, your spouse:
but I am someone else entirely.
You only know of me what I tell you of me.
My secrets are my own.
They are the part of me that make me
        do what I do
        say what I say
        think what I think
        believe what I believe
I am your boss and your assistant,
I am your father, I am your uncle,
cousin, waiter, business partner.
I am all of these things,
but I am no one you know.
Not unless I want to be.
But I don't know you well enough
to open up that much.

Something tells me I'm not cut out for this.
So, I'm not listening to 'it'.
Who says what I'm cut out for?
Who says what I'm built for?
People above me seem to believe what they say goes.
but they are only above me in their own mind.
because they put themselves on the pedestal,
they climb on their high-horse and then build the pedestal
ON THE HORSE.
They play king of the mountain.
"You there," they decree from their heights,
"you can't do that." "you aren't good enough."
"That's not the plan we have for you."
But I don't listen to them.
I can' barely hear them from down here.
Down in this hole I've dug for myself.
It's kind of nice but I can still hear them, I know they're still up there.
Yelling. Commanding. Touting.
"No, no! Do it like this."
And the masses follow.
The rest of us are as yet undecided.
Or too decided.
Either clawing and scratching our way out of the hole,
or digging ourselves deeper,
trying to drown out the noise.
My hole is almost finished,
not much further now.
I just want the silence. the peace. the comfort.
Everyone else can have the spots at the top.
I'll stay down here in my hole.
Soon, though, I can stop digging.
just as soon as I reach the bottom of this 6 feet.