So many options, so little to do.
Strike that, reverse it.
Man I’m not sure what I mean. I look ahead on a thousand scenic roads and still feel like I’m stuck on my own off-road adventure.
Except I ran out of gas and supplies long ago
And my shoes have holes in the soles
Comparable to the ones opening in my soul
And I’ve built up and torn down SOS signals
Afraid that a search party won’t ever be sent
And terrified that it might find me
Dragging me back to a civilization I no longer know how to live in
I want to spin in barefoot circles in the middle of an open clearing
Screaming out to the sky and the world and my mother and my self
Large and loud and absurd in the only way I know how to communicate
Honestly the deranged circus in my skull to anyone who’d listen.
But maybe they won’t understand
Won’t reciprocate
Appreciate
I delegate
To the stand-in I call I
Present her to the world
As I watch that world pass by
Behind the windows of my soul
And torn soles
They’ll take a passionate lunacy
As heresy
Against the Church of Social Acceptability
And haul me away to a place where I can’t see the drifting sky
And smell the colors of my beautiful off road adventure
That turned to a wandering lost nightmare
Longer ago than I’d care to admit
With my heels dragging in the mud
And a sign around my neck with my social-chosen label printed for the world to read as a caution against
approaching a broken beautiful lunatic.