failure, I believe, is one of the components that make up loneliness.

you can be alone, and feel worthwhile, feel satisfied with your self,
but when you feel lonely, you sense there is something off.

I doubt that many of us admit that we think the loneliness we feel may be our own fault, but I also believe that is part of the pain; the sheer disbelief that we are causing our own pain.

 Despite the fact that we can blame someone for leaving us here alone to fend with the shadow of the wolf who carves out our insides when no one is watching our life as their cherished screen,  even when we do not screctly know that we are the cause for alienation of friends and loved ones, of distance, sometimes the filure comes simply with the fact that we let our selves feel lonely-- that we let ourselves be weak.

we indulge in our weakness. That next chocolate you can't resist, even though you know the 12 grams of fat it contains per serving. You think, quietly, so you don't hear yourself, and thus don't have to admit it to anyone, "I deserve to feel lonely. I deserve to live in the cave for awhile until someone rescues me."

I will contest, there are less selfish modes of loneliness-- pure uttered {cries} of the soul for companion, but more often than not, the kind of loneliness we experience, I believe, is the one I have been describing: the loneliness of the stubborn.

To be free is to admit that you cause your own suffering; that duka can be overcome. But who of us that is stubborn will admit such a thing?

There the challenge lies.

to know that we are significant,

but not significantly important,

that are presence can be felt,

but not always needed,

that the stress we feel

of attending

is often

imagined. 

choices

you,
my love,
my dear,
             exuberant one
             whom everyone loves,
             who called me "Mum,"

you,
      I have healed bonds.
praise courage.
praise theater.

                   mourn self blame.
                                                            distance.
 you,
my shock,
my friend?
               awakened thoughts,
               who flirted-- with everyone,
               who caught me in arms,
                                                   once.
you,
      I know not our standing.
mourn stammers.
mourn silence.

                 praise distance?
                                            busy.

GONE
i wonder,
because of one,

because of choice.

because of me.


you, my dear-- I miss your dreams.
you, my friend?-- I miss your convictions.

you-- the one I have,

you share these
sometimes;
dreams, convictions.

but more often than not,
silence
tease
disapprove

of mine.

                                                                  did I mean to choose this path?
                                                                                                       doubt
                                                                                    but not fear. 

           

fine?

when spoken,
my thoughts--ran over.

labeled
over
     DRAMATIC.

when silence,
only allowed
                   seconds
                                for my mind, our existence
                                                          in peace.

then,
"what?"

...

  "what?"
"Fine."
 hmpf.

Not allowed thought.
Not allowed silence.
ok
try again. Discuss.

                            oh, you don't know?
                            oh, you mis-understand?
                                               "Oh My GAAWD! Forget it!"

remain calm. forget it. enjoy night and moon.

         "No dog on bed."
 request.

           "I want puppy! hugs hugs hugs."
    defy.

five.
-_- *sigh*
fine.

"I'll pay for tickets.   No concessions though."
"Junk food?" fine
                          [ line ]

spent more than before.
                                   defeated.
                                                fine.
still okay. still enjoy.
I have your company  <3

"Study?"
"sure."

Noise.

Noise.

"Pet?"
"Play?"
work?

nope. "No music." "Hmpf. fine."

                                        FIVE.
complies. (thank you.)


buzz, buzz, buzz-- "aw! cold!"
"Game game game!"
{uncomfortable joints}
                                               {droopy eyes}



GIVE UP!

                 "Sleep."

                  at peace.
 join me,    
                     sweet.

Kisses, thanks. :)

start something.
                       WAIT.
                              No time for this frustration.
                               ow, nails. : (
"Hmpf."
Leave.

              Fine.
Sleep,
         fine.
miss presence, enjoy space. 

Awake, wonder:
                          is this really fine?

Next day will be better,
                                   Right?
only if I'm gone.

warrenty of your exsistence

You exist
in this space
beside me.

a warm 2 and a half foot
by six foot
existence;

a warm circumference left
when you get up.

I trust
that you still exist 
when you are not beside me,
a child learning peek-a-boo
can guess about the same.

But is more comforting to think
for a time

that you do not exist

with out me there--
without my
permission.


Who are you
when not with me?
you are a different person-- ingauging
in different
relationships,
different observances;
different thoughts.

with out me.

this is when
idenity
and relationship
come to mean
separate things.

When I am
a parcel
of yours;
of you,
and you are a parcel,
of mine;
of me.

So I am
AFRAID
--there, I said it--
of losing what I have
of you.

But isn't it truth
that we never have someone's heart?
It is just on loan, a undefined time limit of ocupation?

Isn't it Truth
that we always have someone's heart?
a gift, with warranty, of an undefined limit?

Truth is, I have no warenty
on our hearts
We have no
loan.

Trust.
and love.
and faith.

these three remain.

a prayer

what will I do with life.

Stuck between want of meaning,
of doing good,

and finding meaning,
finding good

in all things.

but it is not in all things.

what do i want
to do

what will i do

with the rest
of life.

                                       I am sick of shallow people

                                       I am sick
 sick of the shallow
of myself.

Problem:
              i find most joy
              in what may be considered
                                                       the shallow
                                                        the hallow--
or do i?


color.
form.
order.
composition.

typography.
I want to make things
look good
for those who do good.
I want my designs
to be informed
by informing
myself
with what is done--

I want goodness
I want truth
I want these to create
Beauty.

how do i use
     a passion
for a good?

or, sometimes it seems,
more importantly,
how do you
get paid for good?

Idealist.



what is worth while?

goals-- dreams.
Aaron has those, not me.

what do I want to do?
I know what i want to be doing,
not what I want to do.





I want to ask questions












and never stop.

turn out like a spout--
dreams--
splatter, smattered, like batter, onto floor
concrete
the street
cold-- oiled, bold.

too big for me
to shurg on,
to keep buttontoned.
to tight
to breathe
to keep zipped,
so i shed it to the floor--

too much
I fear
is near-- falling out,
oh, doubt--
who am I?
Where am I?

Shout.

now count
the minutes you spend,
the hours, like towers, building
till gone and dead
is your oppertunity
to improve your imunity
to this world
to this

in action.

become raidoactive,

your dreams,

till it seems you'll burst with potential
instead of consequential

death
of self-- instead

die by never giving into the lie--

become.

then, it will be done.