Some things, told me, I shouldn't feel this way.
Not a voice..... Just small things.

The instruments,
Her heart speaks, revealed a smile,
That brought the sun
Slowly
Above us.

The decades of stone & brick.
It took awhile to shadow the hurt.
Days,
To build this empire of air around me.
To get the confidence,
To not care anymore.

The guy I am.
Usually sits on the darkest rock,
Under a bridge, by a stream.
Just thinking.

& She,
The woman she was, wasn't there.
I remember the moon & a dream.
Building a secure SELF
For accepting, but isolated.

The furthest things were so close,
She couldn't understand.
I'm really no-one.
Not anything more then human.

On this bench, I sat.
It was worn from all the years.
The silent disappointments from rejection.
Peeled the paint.
At my feet, the concrete, discolored.

I thought I had the power to heal,
REBUILD
But the guy I am,
Was left without a hammer,
Or even the smallest axe,
Or a plug,
For the furniture,
In the plasmic gleam,
Under the sunrise.

"Who am I?"
I whispered to a breeze.
It carried it with it.
"Your You."
Was the musically fading answer.
I turned back to the moon in a daze.
" I Am WHO I Am "