So many “road stories”
from the Odyssey, and Kerouac, to Augustine.
Each rich in emotion and spirit
most of the stories
have the hero hitched to a fellow traveler
to bathe the soul in word and mood
to throb with the music.

I have recurring dreams.
I’m in a hotel looking for an elevator
can’t find my floor or room
or can’t find my car downtown.
I wander streets, and lots.
Are there road stories hidden in these dreams?

Why do I trip, fall
stay misplaced and lost
find only
transitory
destinations?

I want to be present and
thinking about the world
Not worrying about myself+my mental illness+wellbeing.
Maybe I can find that out in the flowers

Today, I yearn for you.
There is a heaviness in my heart that I try and center as a weight to ground me.
Do you think that's always something we must carry alone?
But today, it threatens to push over anything in its way, gaining momentum with each passing second.

Today, I yearn for my innocence.
For that lightness in my soul that washed the world in hues of pink and possibility.

Today, I bury the girl I once was.
I lay down flowers at her grave, and I cry hot tears of anger and sadness.
All while trying to make sense of the imperfections inherent in life.

Today, I try to heal my heart while making space for yours.

Today, my being misses yours.
Today, I yearn for you.

Not only as company for another lost soul.
But, as a reflection in your heart that is in my image.

Today, I pray you are searching for me too.

-M

A man went soul searching
After feeling life's longing
He assumed his soul abroad
On some peak, tied with silver cord
Admitting he was bored sick
He picked a walking stick
..
  ...
     ....
         ......
After many a walk
He found his stick could talk
'You seek your soul' said the stick
'Why don't you throw me in a creek?'

Having done so I was surprised
Sitting here
It's myself that has arrived.

There is nothing in all things
Unless the soul is participating

I am lost in the never ending catacombs of my conscious
There is no light to guide me anymore
There’s no one to hold my hand
If I just gave up now
Would anyone come looking for me?

All the static, the noise in my head is getting louder
So unbearably loud.
And it's all I can do to convince myself, I'm okay.
They're not ALL pointing and laughing.
You are not shameful.
You're worthy.
Things are going to work out.
Things will look better.
The ground is not falling from beneath you.
Although, your knees are shaky, you're still standing.
Still pacing.
Still taking small steps forward.
Dancing with your own thoughts, as it may be.
Nonetheless, your own chaotic tango.
Just roll with it.
The dice have been rolled.
Go with the next calling.
The next thing that feels right.
Because. This. Doesn't.
I've placated myself, become complacent.
I listened to the outer noise, that which stirs unease.
Stick it out, they say.
Don't give up on this great thing.
This greatness is not my greatness.
Is not my passion, or my heart.
This 'greatness' is a grand recurring nightmare.
A grandiose headache.
Remove me.
This is not a reflection of my soul.
A stepping stone, I remind myself.
Yet, here I am in limbo, as with everything.
When does it end?
When can I stop aching for more?
In an ocean full of water, I am drifting and dying of thirst.
I call out, "Quench me."
I am done thirsting for an unknown resolve.
What on Earth is this life, this meaningless humdrum life?