Why?

Why am I here?

You live your life like you're still alone.

You've asked me to come time and time again.

I live as a shut in.

My companions:

The dog.

Frustration, loneliness, anger, depression, inconsideration.

I don't understand how you can't see it. Nor feel it. Nor feel why I'm upset or why you should be.

I can't even hide the vodka here.

This is a public forum. So this is my page and it's about to get really dark. Just wanted to give y'all a heads up. I want somewhere to journal my "private thoughts" but am too lazy to make a new blogspot. Or physical write anything. You. Have. Been. Officially. Warned.

My thoughts are at least poetic in form. If not, chalk it up to raw, stream of conscious.

If they were fireflies stuck in some sticky black thing, that'd be welcoming.

Seeing as I pray to science, I feel they're balls of burning gas burning light years away.

My fear is: that they are truly our past kings and father's staring down and watching us.

Maybe I won't earn my spot up there.

Dad, I know you love me.

I know I'm one of the few.

And, I love you.

I'm sure I know that you do.

But I'm also aware it's about "the who."

The "who" that I do.

The who I make mew.

Really, this is nothing new.

With all the theatre; the cue.

I'm pretty, so I'll only like a few.

Sorry that I'm over the pew.

It seems you like the who that I pursue.

With the fam, I get it, quite a dif avenue.

Though I believe my love is true.

Give me a smirk and a smile.

The people will look.

Give me the thoughts or the smile,

Well there goes the hook.

The side eye over there will cause tension.

My intention, not so the intention.

A lingering hand certainly leaves tension.

I didn't mean anything to cause mention.

I feel I have Cupids wings.

Certainly try.

I put on my most nimble shoes.

Ya, they're still staked to the ground.

With lead.

Oh. That's not the point. You can bear the torch. Stalwart I guess. But your nimble soles leave me here. I really am staked to the ground.

I wasn't kidding.

Cupid left me without his wings.

I merely just watch.

Observe.

Unsuccessful myself, but

As you fly

Fly and love

Love and smile

I'll yell

"Whoa, watch out for that!"

That feeling you get.

It seems to start in your nose.

Your nose and travels down.

Not sure how.

Not sure where.

It just travels.

You hear a song. Even a melody.

You'd think it'd start in your ears.

It's a song.

Nope.

Your nose.

And again travels down.

"Oh, to your heart?"

Really? You're missing it.

Music that matters.

Sound that matters.

It's more than both.

Hearts only move things in your body.

Music can move things in the universe.

The heart helps.

And you feel it pulse.

But the right music just takes you away.

Your mind is no longer there.

Its with those vibrations that the music travels to

Wherever they lead.

That's where your souls is.

With the fabric that music is created from

Try to map it.

Try to write it down.

Like writing down a tear.

(That's a liquid emotion.)

When it dries so does that moment.

So does that music.

That music can no longer create that moment it created.

Just one second ago.

Just one tear ago.

If you didn't see it, you're not really the only one.

Probably not the only tear missed.

The next music you enjoy.

Share it.

Share those moments that may never been seen again.

Mine just now dried.

They were lost.

I enjoyed them.

You didn't.

You were reading this.

You wait for that warm embrace.

You anticipate it.

Like a hug.

Like a "it'll be okay".

Like an end of the day that you need.

You truly need.

Wonder,

What if that embrace you need.

That feeling in the sand.

The warm sand as you wiggle back and forth.

That divot you make for yourself.

The one you need to make for yourself.

For. Yourself.

Because the feel, the feel, no one else can make it.

(Not the way you want anyway.)

The warm sand; a cradle.

That feeling you always sought.

No one else seems to get it quite right.

Not the kiss.

The right kiss.

The kiss you need.

Not even the fucking hug that you need.

When you need. That you need.

It's that warm bath to the soul.

That hug you always needed from mom.

Wanted from mom.

You might not get.

Mom needs what mom needs and she'll never get.

Because,

Now she can't.

Can't fucking can't.

And you ate that last piece of pizza.

And WARMed it up.

Olives. Delicious.

That feeling was a little warm.

But as you laid on the couch.

You wanted more.

More warmth.

More at least something.

Sought more.

At least something.

That you probably won't get.

But you'll still look.

Like the warmth of the tears.

The same tears as now.

Though a different couch.

Though really the same tears.