A tidal wave of mystery

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Maxine, lover of the English language.

"I'm not crazy, my reality is just different than yours."


this never stops being…
Beautiful

to be loved, understood, and wanted

In the country of madness and clarity, insanity shows me the way to go.

everything is memory except for the present moment and even that is constantly slipping away into the past
although it never really leaves the corners of your mind
it stays and lingers on throughout the course of time
everything in front of you is almost instantly behind
forgive me if it takes a while to accept these terms of mine
life’s a prison sentence — i was indicted with a crime
the crime of being born in these godforsaken times
my dear it’s probably best if you go yours and i go mine
it seems even in my desperation i’ve run all out of rhymes

You are a necromancer
Making magic out of dead souls
Playing hooky with my memories
Bringing the past back to life

Your divinations of what’s to come
Cannot dictate where I will go
Do not tell me you think you know
Where I’ll end up down the road

I am the master of my fate: I am the captain of my soul.

Do not fool yourself into thinking
You know exactly who I am
If touching something makes you know it
Should I not know all the secrets of the Earth?

Putting your hand on a Bible does not bring you to God
Brushing your fingers over a dictionary does not make you lexically omniscient
Just the same,
Caressing my outsides: my face between your palms, my body close to yours,
Does not make you aware of all I am within

eagerly awaiting discovery

Consider the following:

Maybe I’m not “cranky.”
Maybe people are allowed to not spit sunshine and ooze rainbows from their pores 24/7.
Maybe I’ve had enough of being expected to.
Maybe everyone feels a little crazy sometimes, some more than others.
Maybe I just need someone to hold me up (I feel a little faint).
Maybe something has been bugging me far too long for me to be exactly sure what it is anymore.

Maybe you’re the problem.

Maybe I haven’t found the solution.
Maybe there isn’t one.

Maybe the mathematics behind your reason for oppressing me has not been proven just yet.
Maybe the concept of facts behind fiction was merely invented by someone desperate for an answer.

Maybe a change of scenery cannot improve one’s disposition,
But maybe it can.
Maybe it can.

In this moment, I feel I’ll be okay. I’ll be okay.
In this moment, I can reconcile my worries of isolation and despair and convince myself that I will be just fine on my own.
In this moment, I realize that I may feel alone, but certainly will be surrounded by good company if I can keep my wits about me.
In this moment, I am not scared.
In this moment, I am no longer terrified.

This feeling will surely pass.
(But it is enough for now)

I choose to believe

am I laughing because I’m nervous or because I’m falling in love with myself (and the kiddish nature of doing impulsively silly things)