I feel like I'm losing everyone
Or maybe I never really had anyone

C                                                                ­                           R
          L                                                    ­               E
                      U                T
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Clutter in my Room
Clutter in my mind
I stare at the piles unsure of where to start
Every item I pick up brings waves of anxiety so I move to another
but one thought plucked brings two more to the surface
Anxious overthinking and worrying about made up familial death
I.
Don't
       Know
                How
                           To
                                  Be
                         ­               Better...
My shovel is hitting stone, convinced I'll find gold
Day by day, stuck in the mundane waring with flesh and spirit
The solution should be easy but its not

And the guys I want don't want me
And I'm writhing in my bed in agony over my disfigured figure
Staring at the fun house mirror with my grey-tinted glasses
Uneven curves and lumps.

And I question the way others see me
I question conversations
I question intentions as actions fail to follow the spoken
And I feel so so alone

Support beams rotting
I'm passing through with the cold
I don't feel like a blessing
I'm nothing special
I just feel so isolated
Surrounded by clusters of people and I don't have the courage to walk up to one without feeling like a foreigner in my second home.
and when I do it is just as easy to abandon the attempt
I'm the last student in a game of team-up glancing around to see who chance has left me with...I never thought this feeling would continue well into my twenties...

And I know its all just the chemicals but no man will ever understand how this feels and no woman either...
So old and still feeling like a kid who never outgrew the growing pains.
It still hurts. All the **** time.

loneliness
is a misunderstanding
of what together is
a feeling we need someone
to complete us
in truth
people are a pain
in the ****

Who is that
I see?
Some reflection as strange as me.

Too frightened to
Be alone.
Overcome by a sad tone,
Overwhelming,
Overgrown.

But
Who is this?
Who have I become?

No one.

A fact of a stranger,
Looking through the mirror.

Uncanny,
A weak figure.

But alas,
That is me.

And I,
Have withered.

I've been exposed.
Many have witnessed me,
And more have noticed it.
The ones I taught to use a spoon,
Tie a lace, ride a bike,
Arise from a fall.
Those whom I've instructed
On when to listen,
When to question.
They've acquiesed to the knowledge.

The colleagues I once cornered with
In serious situations;
When our decisions effected others' paths;
Those who recognized my signature.
They've acquiesed to the knowledge.

I meet less often with friends.
I ask for less favours, and return fewer.
I don't stand holding meaningful conversations,
Sipping strong drinks.
I wear a cap indoors sometimes  (I once condemned this).
But, here you have it.
They've acquiesed.

I'm on my own now,
Hoping my memories are real and are mine,
And my ideas are new and genuine
(I change my mind a lot).
I seldom check the weather;
I've cancelled my cable (and this is a milestone).

I've enroled in a new world order.
Ask anyone you can find around here.
I no longer run the world.

The feeling of neutral,
Is bleak and bland.

For I cannot fathom
This life of random.
This feeling of doom,

It is present
Yet seldom.

It is static
And paralytic.

I feel erratic.

Yet I am calm,
Content.

But my mind,
Unresponsive,
Perhaps braindead.

My sanity,
Decreased
To the thinnest thread.

As this feeling of neutral,
Has emptied my head.

How many hands will I hold?
How many will I have to let go?

He lived down the street from us,
And came to be known as,
The man whose wife left him.
We speculated and surmised.
None but two knew the reason why
He became
The man whose wife left him.

He stopped cutting the grass
And weeding the beds.
He won’t play his uke
On the porch like he did.
From all accounts,
He was a good Dad,
None ever heard him
Explete a foul word.
He worked till retired,
Never was fired.
I'm told he lived a gentle life;
Never started a fight,
Or ran from strife.
That's what I heard
About the man whose wife left him.
Left to his own devices,
The man whose wife left him,
Left.