Individuality Poem by RoseAnn V. Shawiak

Fighting restlessly inside, being bowled over by
emotional tides not recognized nor felt.

Wondering, left upon distant shores to fend for
self, standing alone, facing the world.

Circumstances trying, picking at the edges, the
cornerstones of sanity.

Wakeful, alert, aware of surroundings, seeking
something beyond self, but can't quite figure out
what it is.

Sandwiched between memories and flashbacks, a
childhood that had never been allowed.

Growing up, searching for the answers, nothing
ever comes about.

Never grasping nor holding onto meanings brought
forth from other's minds and mouths.

Somehow never reaching the confines of an inner
being, selectively seeing what is important,
letting sight record it's questions on an inner
slate.

There is no transpiring concept of thought seeping
through, all ideas are spread about in seemingly
mass confusion.

There is none of that chaos in creative minds, it
is all sorted, filed and defined.

Constructed within the realms of genius, life is
touched, looked upon as a form of art, awaiting
it's individuality, internally inborn.

Watching misguided efforts of others along the
way, brings about the resiliency needed to survive
in this world.

Noticing every little action, reaction, emotion,
and physical being, awareness is brought into view,
and life becomes seen because it is real.

Total abandon each person takes in, manufactures the
differences relationships make.

Untold lessons of chance are tucked beneath heaven,
serenading progress of each new risk.

Luckily foretelling future's plans, hit or miss with
very little clairvoyance and lots of myths.

Watchfully eyeing dismal heartbeats of decadent
referrals, complicating life's resources, filling them
with empty dreams.

Taking down from heaven, a little every day, so as not
to miss some small blessing along the road of life
and living.