Slide

There it is again -
that ache,
a twinge of sadness,
a longing for something missing,
although I know not what.
It bubbles up inside me
at unexpected moments,
catching me by surprise,
pulling me down.

At times,
the tears well up, too.
Sometimes appropriate,
sometimes not.
I feel like I'm losing my equilibrium,
my inner balance,
the part of me that just knows
that even when times are tough
everything will be all right.

I feel like I'm riding a roller coaster,
except that I don't remember
getting on the wild ride
and I can't get off
because the ride never ends.
One moment I'm happy,
the next fighting tears.

Wash, rinse, repeat.

I wanted this to be over.
I still do.
I've tried so hard,
each painful step an arduous trek
more like climbing a mountain
than a ladder.

Is this all that is waiting for me at the top?
I've climbed and climbed
only to reach the top of the slide
where the only direction to go
is down.

And this time,
who will catch me
at the bottom?

Prisons

We build our own prisons.
Some are gilded cages
wrought of fine silver and gold.
Some are houses of sticks and straw
providing illusory security.
Some are stone fortresses
keeping the prisoner in
and the world out.

What they all have in common
is that they are prisons of
our own making.

We build them of hurts and insecurities
broken trusts
broken hearts.
We build them of lies and half-truths.
We build them of expectations -
those we have of ourselves
those others have of ourselves
those that we think others have of ourselves.
We consider ourselves prisoners of circumstance
fate
luck.

We are the prison wardens
guarding against a prison break
ensuring that the facility remains secure
though in security, it may also be bleak.
We are the maids and the servents and the butlers
ensuring that in the gilded palace
the prisoner is seemingly happy
though unable to leave.

Or is he?

We build our own prisons, it is true.
But because we build them...



...we can also set ourselves free.

Lost my voice

I wish I knew
how to tell you
everything that's on my mind.
But I can't.
It's as if my lips are sealed
like a dam blocking the
torrent of words and emotions
threatening to break forth.
You say you won't judge me--
but that's a promise easily made
and easily broken.
How can I know?
And anyway,
if I judge me,
why shouldn't you?
How can I give voice
to my doubts and fears
(none of them new,
but many of them had
seemingly been in hibernation)
when doing so will shatter
the facade of strength
I've worked so hard to build
and maintain?
A mask so strong that
even I started to believe it.
But while I'm trying
to keep up this show of strength,
I can feel myself slowly
crumbling inside,
as it becomes harder
to keep up the act.
Still, I'm determined
not to disappoint you.
It's bad enough to disappoint myself--
I can't let you down.
It isn't even so bad all the time, anyway;
just that the highs
aren't as high
and the lows are, well, lower.
The colors are duller
(so I dress myself brightly)
and the music has faded
to a dissonant tone.
But I find myself acting
like all is still well
because how can I tell you
I'm not who you think I am?
So is it any wonder
that it seems like I've
lost my voice?

Frustration

What's this feeling coming over me,
one I thought I'd left behind?
Though I'm searching for distraction,
true relief is hard to find.
I'm trying so very hard to fight it,
this restless, aching, itching, burning.
But though I strive ever so hard,
still I'm left with this empty yearning.

No! Not now! I'll fight temptation!
My feelings will find other forms of demonstration.

(Like this humble, somewhat sappy poem...hey, whatever works, right? ;) )

the world is grey

The world is grey

the grey of drizzling rain
of cold winter mornings
of an overcast summer's day

oh, there are flashes of color
here and there--
a genuine smile,
a shared moment,
and--dare I say it?
a thrill of laughter

other days are blackest night
and the haunts of the darkest hour
fill the mind and soul
when the cold, unfeeling abyss
seems devoid of all light

but mostly, the world is grey
the color of unyielding dreariness
of feelings dulled to numbness
the color of forever in-between

the feeling of being dead inside
and the vivacious outside is just a mask
of gaudy glitz and tinsel
which looks great onstage
but which looks cheap and dull
at the end of the show

Colors fade, the stage makeup comes off
and once again, the world is grey

So hard?

Is it that hard, really?

Am I so untouchable
that you can't reach out
and comfort me?

Am I so hard to be around
that you avoid me?

Do you really think
I need so much
that I couldn't possibly
have anything left to give?

Does my world seem so dark
that a little light
couldn't begin to penetrate?

Am I so insignificant--
though once I thought
that I knew you
and you knew me?

Is it that hard, really--
just to be my friend?

"Oh L-rd, the things you can't afford..."

I can't afford to speak up, but I can't afford to be silent.

I can't afford dreaming, but I can't afford not to sleep.

I can't afford to trust, but I can't afford to be too skeptical.

I can't afford to leave, but I can't afford to stay.

I can't afford sanity, but I can't afford the lack of it.

I can't afford to break down my walls, but I can't afford to leave them standing.

I can't afford to think too much, but I can't afford to think too little.

I can't afford to care, but I can't afford indifference.