Puzzle

How long have you been searching for the final piece?
And how many times have you attempted to force the fit?
Take a look at your hand.
See the piece it holds?
Guess what?
It’s not the right one either.
You think you know what you want and you’ve convinced yourself that it’s right.
So why are you still alone?
Why does that hole still beckon, taunting you with its emptiness, mocking you with its uneven edges that reject your every endeavor?
Your eyes and ears are open but you refuse to hear or see.
Listen to me!
I understand your stubbornness—it is a malady from which I too suffer
And therefore I can appreciate it.
But the piece you hold does not fit.
Turn it left, turn it right, upside down and on its side.
Your tenacity falls short.
So leave it.
See it for what it is:
Extra weight that only drags you down and holds you back and prevents you from seeking that which you lack.
A polygonal shape that has no known name—such is what you seek.
Not a circle that will roll contentedly behind you, nor a square that will bend to your will.
You’ve tried those all before.
Yet what do I know?
Who knows better what you need than you?
But you do not want what you think you need and what you need is not what you think you want.
If you did, you wouldn’t be holding this piece, just another in a long line of pieces, trying desperately to fit it to your form.
And you wouldn’t be hating me.

Contract

**just a note: This piece was written very quickly. It is very instinctual. It is directed at a very small, very specific group of people. It is not meant to be taken as a general outlook on life that I hold, because I don't. Please read it with a grain of salt and cynicism, for that's how it was written. Thank you.**

I'm the boss.
What I say goes.
Don't like my rules?
Hit the damn road.

Wanna know why?
Because I said so.
No. You can't just...
Just do as you're told.

My word is law
So deal with it.
Don't like my way?
I don't give a shit.

I don't want to hear
Your reasons or thoughts.
I'd really prefer
If you'd shut the fuck up.

And the moral of the story is:

If you can't deal
With you're wrong and I'm right
Then do me a favor:
Get out of my life.

Ink

Nothing so exciting yet at the same time
nothing so daunting
as a blank page
beckoning...
enticing...
waiting to be filled up
with a flood of black ink.
But what if your pen has run dry?
Or even worse, your muse?
Staring at the unending brightness of white
desperate to leave a mark
just to prove you can.
A racing mind, each new thought discarded,
not worthy of your time, your talent.
And at that moment when despair has nearly won
when you're ready to rip the page
throw the pen
walk away
a dim hue on the horizon flickers,
a dam breaks
and a river of ink stains your page
with rhythm or rhyme or rhetoric
and your story unfolds.
And as you view what you've written
waiting for a critique,
there is nothing so exciting yet
nothing so daunting
as that full page stained with black ink.

Assurance

Since I was you, I've wanted you.
You've always been my desire.
Long time coming, for years and years
Thoughts have revolved around you--
Your features, your character, the manner in which you'll grow,
Who'll you become.
I've imagined and dreamed
A time times a thousand
My pride, my joy, my love--all attuned to you.
Now you are no longer a dream.
You've come into being.
I know it's been rough, a hard patch of time,
But please understand that I'm scared.
You are the door, an entrance into an unknown world
And I have no choice but to cross the threshold.
I don't know that I'm ready.
Can I ever be?
But know this:
My love for you overflows, a current strong and unstoppable
And I am pulled along, unable and unwilling to resist.
Never doubt that you have become my life
And I would give mine for yours.
When you sense my distress
And worry that you're wrong
Stop!
Never believe that, for you are as right as can be.
I will get through, past the weeks and the months.
And when you're finally in my arms
A quiet calm will descend
And you will know as well as I that you've finally found your home.

Learning Environment

Who's to say what's for my own good?
Certainly not you.
My actions are my own, confined to a screen that flickers and flits.
I suffer not from the faces and spaces and ramblings and wit.
The information computes
Recognized by the reality of the 90's.
And only in rare circumstances do I sink that low
For perfection is an everyday occurence for me.
If they are led to distraction, it is only because they peek around corners and hide behind doors.
If they kept that which is meant to take in air between the covers
And those that are meant to read between the lines
Then just maybe they could keep up.
Yet I am punished.
My freedom to search is eliminated
Given up for the good of many--
For those who are either too foolish or unwilling to take charge of themselves.
No matter.
My loss is also my gain
For my frustration furthers me to greater heights
And I shall surpass them all.
My own good? I think not.
But I shall make it so.

Pressure

Dragging under the weight
Trying not to go crazy
Focusing still on the center
As the edges start to get hazy

Trying to order the chaos
Classify each little thing
Identify and prioritize
Consequences each one will bring

Headed into a new phase
Releasing the grip on the old
Freeing the bolt of the dead
Tracked by belongings untold

Hours slip by with much haste
And the sun persists in its set
But the checklist still overflows
With deadlines that haven’t been met

But worry is kicked to the curb
Stress released with a sigh
Recalling the end is in sight
A union beginning is nigh

So let it gather and build
I’ll thrive as I usually do
And as it dissolves into naught
I’ll end up right next to you

Intended Isolation

I do not hold the key to your relentless swell of queries.
Your interrogation gains you nothing.
My rights are understood and my qualifications allow my own counsel.
And so I shall remain silent.
For in a sea of cravings, nearness does not exist.
I do not desire to be held close, to be embraced in warmth and tenderness.
The only containment I require at this moment in time is my own.
For within the fortifications I have constructed sentiments flow freely,
Unhindered by the boundaries you have set.
Contemplation of concepts abounds and theories develop
And I forever consider my personal philosophies.
And as for your estimations, they fall short of their destination.
They collapse under the weight of my denial, crushed by the crashing waves of rejection.
They hold no sway.
Do not attempt to break down the barriers.
They were set with a purpose,
For I do not desire nearness.
I do not care to hear or speak or feel if it pertains to those outside.
I want solitary space inhabited only by myself.
For isolation is bliss.