Here I am again.
Acting out and hurting.
I don't like to feel this way.

But I feel this way when I imagine how things could be.
How things should be in my memories of my life.
I should take family drives.
master wilderness.
content.

I feel as if I'm standing in that dry hilly land.
And on the rocks above, I look down on myself.
And I am content watching the stream of life roll by.
And the breeze push the trees in harmony.

The dirt and the grit don't feel dirty... they feel fresh.
They combine to renew my soul.
Years upon the years of waiting for my flesh to make them whole.
The cold stream contrasts so with the warm night air.
And it makes no apologies.

It is what it is, and I am what I am.
A beast of the earth and unmovable.
Fallen dead on my bed of crusty brown earth.
And covered with soot from head to toe.

The earth and I are companions.
We make no apologies.
I know her even in her mystery.
She still abides and..
outstretches her branches to console me.

I am a beast. An animal.
I have no voice to cry out.
my tears retained only..
by these great monstrosities.
These towering beasts that consume me.
confuse my purpose and lull me to uncomfortable silence.

I am a man.
But I am hardly a man.
Clothed in inappropriate fear.
I run inside instead of out.
And ext-anguish my passion..
in this silent stone tomb.

I consume my inadequacies.
and in doing so, I am consumed by my inadequacies.

I see you hiding away in such secret.
Your priorities so askew.
That you would trade your mother,
for your favoured cousin.
That knows your name,
but gives you no bread.

I wish you deserved my joy and my pain.
I wish you could love me to renew your name.

I am may be your stranger,
but never your fool.

If only you would explain to them,
as I had to do.
What makes Mummies and Daddies,
a Daddy or Mum.
Why can't Mummies and Daddies forever be one.
Then you might see,
This futility.
Of hating and wanting and pushing away.
Day after day after day after day.

And you're all by your self now.
With your truest of friends.
As they all become families.
and you're lonely again.

You think that your cousins and your nephews of fate,
will stand up beside you when you show them your hate?
Deny them of mercy and passion and love.
And see how completely they fall..

I'm finished.
And tho that is off of my chest.
I still carry burdens inside of my breast.
Unpassions fulfilled,
My life is the cost,
I long for the battle,
that feels all but lost.

I'm ending not all,
But just this last phrase.
I'll still love you more,
to the end of my days.

Happiness is contentment

It is not easy to find happiness in ourselves, and it is not possible to find it elsewhere.
 -Repplier, Agnes

It's easy to think, and even obsess about something or someone that could fill a need for contentment. These things however, never resolve or absolve the need for that elusive need. 

To just be happy with oneself seems a relatively modest goal. Unfortunately it can feel virtually unattainable for those who set their expectations well beyond their capabilities.

I for one have a weakness when it comes to creating, well, most anything. I tend to obsess about what the project is lacking. I spend so much time assessing the options the that project is rarely completed on time or at all. When I look back on the time I spent, and the outcome, I lament. Further reducing my satisfaction and my confidence.

I am a gifted creature. I have many capabilities I haven't even had the opportunity to explore. Unfortunately - I may never be able to demonstrate this adequately without finding first a contentment within myself that I can cultivate. It's as if I need a reminder that I can be, do, accomplish anything if I let go of my obsession with perfection.