Wander

I wandered the confines of that which we call reality. 

In search of something that would hold true. 

Ironically, what I found,

was you. 

I've fallen. 

And I can't get up. 

Lend me a hand I beg of you, I think that this time I'm truly down. 

I've struggled with this sense of loneliness and disbelief for ages now. 

I'm scared. 

I'm scared of you.

I'm scared of God. 

I'm scared of Nelson. 

But mostly God. 

Wandering is not good for me. 

I think to much about the life that I wish to live, but the same life that thus far I have fallen short. 

It is disheartening to know what others think of you. 

People say that it doesn't effect them. 

Well me, me. 

It effects me. 

And frankly at the moment I feel the weight of every comment thats been thrust upon my shoulders. 

And I'm weak. 

And most times, you are able to pull me out of it. 

This rut so to speak. 

But this time, man I feel it. 

I feel it. 

And as I wander further, I just try to not let anyone else see the tears. 

Searching for something that will hold true. 

But this time, you aren't there. 

Where you are I do not know. 

Absent in a time of endless woe.

- 

 

You don't know me. 

None of you know me. 

And I don't know you. 

And thats supposed to help isn't it?

Its supposed to make this easier?

So that I can hide behind a name that is so similar to reality that none of you are supposed to see past it?

So that I can write in peace knowing that I am safe?

-

I think I've wandered to much. 

I Love you.

Three words so dignified in our society,

yet so overused they have been rendered obsolete. 

What is the point in that?

To declare our love for one, only to be scorned by the others. 

I find it especially hard to love like that. 

But love isn't supposed to be easy is it?

I love you.

Now judge me for my emotions, I dare you. 

Judge me for feeling affection. 

Judge me. 

I feel like love is an old, beat up guitar. It transfers through many hands, through many users.

But in end, no matter how scratched it is,

it continues to make the most beautiful music. 

Maybe I don't even know what love is.

So judge me for trying as well. 

But please, allow me to just make my music as I please.

I'm just searching for the right melody to unlock the contents within my own mind.

Not yours.

Let me write the song I've always wanted to sing,

concerning love.

-

Hell, let me write an album.

-

Love is an extravagant, complex, confusing, evil, twisted part of life that I can simply not live without.

To the core I yearn for it. 

So judge me for being addicted.

So judge me for going through withdraws on occasion. 

Just let me write my album. 

- - -

Allow me to break the monotony of silence.
I was told to write in larger sentences in order to orchestrate a new rhythm.
I don't quite appreciate it.
I'm a small sentence kind of person.

Allow me to break the monotony of silence further.
I'm a junior in a senior class. Most of you would not even guess,
as you are to focused on yourself.
As I share a quiet piece with myself, I allow my mind to wonder about the workings of your infrastructure.
So what, I am smaller than you.
You would not even know.

I'm a small sentence kind of person.

I'm a small expression kind of person.

I'm just small.

Insignificant.

- - -

As you all socialize, I continue to watch.
To listen.
I dissect your identity, your insecurities, your whole being.

Maybe I'm small.

So here is a big sentence for all of you, so that I can be a big person again, so that maybe someone will notice my voice, so that I can please you, so that maybe I can conform to your big sentence society, (even though I don't want to) I will be a robot just for all of you, even though I pledged not to be.
I'm small.
Just trying to be big.

Maybe I'm small.
But you wouldn't notice.

- -

Yeah, you're ok. You're alive.
Unlike the rest of us.
Trapped inside our own consciousness
Shackled by our aspirations
Unshaken by hope.

Yeah, you're ok. You're alive.
Full of creation.
In quick pursuit of your dreams.
Not far from comfortability.
Shaken by fear.

Yeah, you're ok. You're alive.

- -

Yeah, you're ok. But I'm fine with that.

You're alive.
You're resilient.

You are the one songs are written about.
the come home song
im coming home soon song
All because you live.

Live not a life of reclusion.
Burst the bands of that life,
in which we are trapped.
Be alive.

I'd be ok with that.