I wonder how I even got here, to this point. As a child, I always felt different. In a bad way. I felt like I was always missing something but I couldn't tell what it was or whether I truly was missing it. Was I even normal? What was it like to be normal?
I wonder how people do what they do. Why can't I do it the way they do? With ease, with optimism so high it's almost innocent. What is it you're seeing that I'm not? The world is just a wide spectrum of colors. Do you see the world in black and white? Is that why life seems so simple?
What about me? What about people who see all things gray? What about people who seek neutrality, people who stand in between heaven and hell, people who observe the war rather than fight in it?
No wonder I bask under fantasies, where the world doesn't need to be so vast, where complexity deconstructs itself, where poets are glorified and evils keep their heads down in shame.
Where do I even find the ears that listen? Words make sense when you allow it to do so. Whispers are screams that need a gentle touch of encouragement. All streams to a certain end. But where? Where would mine go?
All these nonsense I call poetry. No longer they give me a sense of safety. Not that they ever did. Now I'm angry and I'm yelling at the distance. Now I'm scared. The vastness of the universe struck me. There are oceans unexplored, star systems unreachable. Stars, galaxies dying billion years ago and we look up directly at their memoirs.
I don't have the right to whine, do I?
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