I want to spread butter lavishly

on my toasted bread of life.

My stains have intricate blueprints,

inked reminders

that the only one

in my mind is me.

I am driven to a destiny

that only I can fill -

a place where you see level

and I see crooked.

I dwell on my own edge

where sunsets appear

in a different realm,

inside the place

where I reside.

I live inside my outer shell

but it is just skin

that doesn’t label me.

I can’t rip myself

into pieces

to be reassembled

in a different perspective.

I disembark on my own journey

and dance on my own breezes.

Life defines my colors

but I determine the flourishes

of my emboldened paintbrush.

I drink coffee cups

of words, spreading them

on my page

for a moment in time

disembarking

on my own journey,

allowing no one

to glance into my mind.

I look out over all the people and I think to myself, "How wonderfully human of them." They all have a belief that sparked hatred, a feeling that sparked love, or an experience that sparked sadness. And all of those thing are their individual passion.

And then I think to myself, " I love them all for their passions." Each of them discovered a passion, which was a seed that grew their personalities.

And then I think to myself, "what is my passion?" I ponder this as I look at them all through my window. All of their passions can be taken back to its seed and put into one of four groups. Anger, despair, happiness, or love.

And then I think to myself, "My passion is love. I love them. I love people!