Disconnect.
I wonder why I can talk so easily about the things that play tug of war with my sanity.
The masses say that sharing should be hard.
I uncover and explain with surprising ease but along with the barrage or words my voice grows monotone and a sickening feeling festers in the pit of my stomach.
I have been disconnected from the wires in my scull.
Please excuse me, My wifi’s down.
The numbing agent finds my nerves and
my tears do not meet my waterline.
I am confused.
And I am lost when I feel most exposed.
How did a wave of heart wrenching emotion come to find a place where if fears the light.
I don’t fear the light, but something inside me does. Holding the expression captive.
I can’t pinpoint the problem.
I told myself I was vulnerable.
That is not false by definition, but it is not laden with pure truth.
My inner conversations are defined by a key inside a lock. Not turned.
My words are like a book. Read but not comprehended. Lost meaning.
My thoughts are like a tree strong rooted, but does not bare leaves.
I am a wick with no flame.
I am missing part of my explanation.
When in solitude, I gush the truth in my hand writing.
I notice the inevitable and I sit in wasteland.
I feel the depths of my soul toss and turn like a toddler restless in the night.
I am a ball of what you could define as crazy
and my heart skips like a rock on the lines of the water only to crash into the shore on the other side.
I let go of all sanity and let myself succumb to dissonance when no one is watching.
When no one is listening.
Why does my heart loose feeling when I am met with a place of safety?
This place of safety questions my process and authenticity.
I am covered with a blanket of soft questions with good intentions.
In a room that feels like home
Surrounded by people who are willingly standing in my shoes and bandaging my wounds
Yet I speak as if I have everything under control.
I speak with authority as if the things that I share are as light as a feather.
I speak with a face so flush that it shows no depth.
I fear that the things that dig so deep seem shallow to my audience
I fear that the things that I share are being shoved the backs of people’s minds to sit in the junk draw just take up space.
I fear that my feelings are not counted as valid because I have dry eyes
And a tone of voice that stays consistent without hesitation without shaking.
I fear that I have to prove my pain.
I can’t pin-point the problem.
I don’t understand why.
I have no idea if the silver lining is around the next bend,
But I can tell you, I am missing part of my explanation.