Where I Stand

I am not a vagrant of society,
Rather a mobile observer of my surroundings.
I write, I listen
I learn, I write
What crosses my heart is the written word.
How else am I to be
For I am a learner, an art admirer
An appreciator of even the dark
That knows everything
Has words wired to its heart.

I hate that some slam their eyelids
And sew them close
To all the mystery of the world.
Our differences are at best to be appreciated
And at least to be tolerated.
I despise the feeling I get from social interaction
A sense of constant judgment,
Measurement,
Inferiority.
I have social anxiety,
But despite myself,
I still try
Which causes strain
Which in turn causes stress
Which inevitably causes a breakdown every month or so . . .
But alas,
There are worst things.
Like intolerance and senselessness.
Like lack of empathy for the other side.
Like too much apathy for even your side.
Those are the worst things.

What I adore is the love of someone
Who I admire
Or who I love back.
I adore the look on someone’s face
When they read literature I wrote
Or a piece I’ve shown them
And they covet it like a prize.
I know I’ve struck gold then.
I adore a screened-in porch
Where I can enjoy the peace of nature,
But I don’t get a piece of nature
Smacking against my brown face.
I adore what many take for granted
Because my livelihood lives far
Far away from the land of grace and money.

Where I stand is nowhere remarkable:
My modest hill in the middle of millions
Towering over mine
With the height reached by their elders
As a privileged stepping stone.

But what’s slightly remarkable is how I stand.

With eyes that see beyond those hills
To another more convoluted horizon,
I turn my feet to a
Brighter,
More colorful
Future.