it’s snowing out,
not just for the
children allowed
outside, not just
for those who can
see the flakes fall
but inside me.

it’s shining out
and in my heart
the sun is fair-
ly radiant
as always, nothing
seems so bad when
the sun is mine.

it’s raining out
and in my head
let’s hide under-
cover, beneath
the warmth of thread-
ed sheets and scent
of apple spice.

Sometimes I just want to exist and have nobody know that I do.
I think they call that solitude.

The struggle comes with the quite often daily
battle against the innate human nature within me
that yearns for social interaction, inclusion, or as I see it invasion.

Invasion of my life, who I am, and what it makes me.

At times I accept the compliments and the positive remarks aimed at me by others
but for the most part I shy away as though it’s all I know to be a pessimist.

It is almost as though I am constantly battling
against my inner self with the vibrant urge to seclude myself from anyone and anything
that is remotely like a positive influence
as though I don’t deserve to be liked or accepted.

If you’re making a cup of tea, make one for me too?
Then maybe we could sit and talk. I’d like that.

I miss that strong connection.
You know the one, the one wherein you
never leave a conversation, not even once,
not even to make a cup of tea;
You already made a dozen, and you’re keeping them warm
as best you can to avoid even a sip of silence.

It’s 15:08 and I don’t want to go to work.
I don’t want to stand behind a counter that separates me from them,
Passing a false smile and I pretend to like it there.
Asking the same questions, customer after customer:
Would you like a bag? When it’s obvious.
Is that everything? When it is.
Would you like any cashback? When they don’t.

It’s not so much the job, or the people, it’s what they remind me of.
They remind me of what I have and what I don’t.

I have a job, but I don’t have a career; my career is lost somewhere.
I have more acquaintances than friends and that is lonely.

I have a friend, but I don’t have a best friend.
There is not a single soul that I confide in with every single last ounce of thought, no matter how much I want that.
No matter how generous a person is, I cannot tell them everything.

And I do. I want to tell them everything. I want them to know me and let me know that I am not all that strange; I am not wrong.

What does it feel like to feel right?
I’d like to know what that feels like most of all.

So as I place products on shelves for the consumers to consume, as I serve them with a smile and show them where the coffee is, as I watch the hours pass just wishing to be asleep again I always wonder:

What does it feel like to be loved?

As I glance briefly up at the stars
I often wonder why they exist.
I often wonder if they, like people, feel pressured too.
When I’m feeling under pressure, sometimes I disappear.

I wonder why stars disappear.
Some would say it’s merely the clouds getting in the way,
But I don’t know if I believe that.

I like to think the stars get scared too.
It makes me feel less silly for hiding away
When I look up at the sky and see that they’re hiding too.

When they’re up there, shining in force,
It makes my insides shine too.

I think sometimes it’s okay to hide yourself away from the world;
From the glaring of eyes, and the thoughts,
and the questions that govern our minds.

I looked up at the sky two nights ago and the sky was vividly bursting at the seams,
With stars lining up, as though to say ‘Look at me, I’m a star.’

I looked up at the sky tonight, half extinguished, and watched as it wept.