I have all these thoughts going through my head. It’s difficult to pull out the ones I need on paper.

Where to begin?

For as long as I can remember I’ve wanted to impress people. I want them to think of me as a gifted person. I want this so bad and fear not holding up that I have withdrawn into myself almost completely.

It has a lot to do with my mother.

She was a very kind person, but it always seemed like she was somewhere else…that a piece of her had been left somewhere. I was very close to her as a child and something inside me told me things about her that I still know to be true, but lack shape or words.

Whatever was in her past pulled its corresponding part from me. I think it wanted a companion.

She’s gone now, so I can never ask her for directions to where I may retrieve our flames. I have to go back without a map.

I am building up the courage to allow myself to get lost and make mistakes. Maybe this is the hardest part?


From the patio

I’ve grown used to myself over the years. Some people think of me as that mysterious quiet guy. Maybe I am. I have a lot to say, but you might never hear it, and that has nothing to do with you or how much I like you. It’s just me. I’m not trying to be anything. I fear being misunderstood and thus choose my words carefully. I hope you don’t think I’m arrogant or ultimately aloof, because I’m not. I’m here. I’m not judging you like you think I am.

I analyze everything to a great extent. My inner mind is lush and overgrown. There are thorns. I try my best not to judge the garden because there are rough patches. We all have them. But my mind is mine is mine is mine.

Writing can be my meditation, but I fear judgment, even from myself. Need to stop that. I have words that need to be written. I have backspaced more than I should.

Even now, when I’m trying to push this out of me with no regard for structure or direction, I judge. But isn’t this just what humans do? We recognize patterns, especially when there are none to be found. There is freedom in knowing that. There is freedom in denying patterns.

From the patio