Nonexistence is reality
Or nonreality, in truth
I don't feel bad but I don't feel good
And there's no reason for either anyway.
The world whizzes past
I close my eyes
I spin but it gets me nowhere
I feel like I'm not even a part
Of the grass underfoot or the air brushing cheek.
I'm jealous - I want to engage
But I'm tired, so tired
It all seems so old, psuedo-shiny from wear
I want something new but I'm tired.
Where did my closet of masks go?
I'm in need of an old stand-by
I guess I got rid of them somewhere along the way
But like an addiction, I crave a fix.
I feel bared and vulnerable
Tender skin without enough plastic to hide it
Everyone around looks able to handle
Even tougher things than I have to complain of.
It's Sunday, but I'm broken - nothing's coming through
Yet everything that touches this tender skin makes me bleed
I don't want to bring others down
But I'm having trouble dealing with exposure.
Why do I think that others won't understand?
I heave a big sigh and assume indifference
From others, though they may ask how I am
They don't really care or want to see my life.
My family is an in-between world, an alternate dimension
My highschool past is one world
This present life another
I'm frustrated and done with the former
and a loner in the latter.
Whether I'm there or here, I'm with no one
I wish I could just move and be a stranger
Do I have to talk to people? Do I have to be a human?
Why can't I just float away? That's what I'm doing anyway.
Excuse me while I wallow in my self-misery
Inflicted upon me by me
I have no good reason and I'm just too lazy
To look and see what's wrong with me
I'm not doing anything, I feel inadequate
I see the good but I can't reach it.
I almost don't want to - what's going on?
How can I know the Divine and not desire it?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem