Not effected by praise, mentally I feel like a never ending maze, sometimes off the haze, other times I can gaze for days until I feel borderline craze. Understanding myself is a lost hope, I would have an easier time replacing the pope, tying him up with a rope and forcing him to cope as he chews on a bone. At times I feel like a drone, while my mind is the one who sits on the throne. I write to bring peace to my soul, to make sense of my every day role. When I sleep I thrive, while awake I’m live, I sit in my hive and contemplate when to take the dive, to finally rejoice and show others who i am, that I have a plan, and that I give a damn. At this present moment I can talk the talk, but for some reason avoid the walk, laziness isn’t the word, it’s as if I’m a beautiful bird with no wings, waiting for the time when the fat lady sings. 

I’ve stayed true to myself for this long, although at times I have the urge to give in and give up who i am. I am confident that patience is indeed a virtue and one day in an unknown amount of time it will be my turn. I remain truly innocent and I believe it is something that should be cherished, rather than looked down upon and questioned as abnormal. 

Being so different has its pros and cons, I am thankful to be the person I am, but at times I wonder what it would be like to fit in with the norm.

Days will pass while ideas continue to mass, confused am I with what to try, slighty shy with a sprinkle of hi! rarely ever cry except when those die. Few can trigger the emotion of pain, it’s as if my brain has difficulty recognizing its claim. Calmed by rain and disheartened by shame. I sit on the same shelf next to the elf, his glass eyes stare and continue to glare, Him and I are alike, confused for whom to fight. Empowered by might and always trying to do right, I can see the light at the end of the bend, for until then, I will continue to defend. I am who I am and nothing will change, I’m on my own page remaining locked in this cage. 

Writing is used to solve a problem, you jot down your thoughts onto the page and transcribe them into lines that make sense. The more difficult a problem, the more eloquent the writing. 

Your definition of lonely differs from mine, so often through out time do i feel like a mime. As if the perception of i is different than my. I always mean well while remaining in my shell, like a stationary bell from the opposite of hell. Destined to be great, a hater of hate, similar to a shaker of shake, a baker of bake. I hold the key to the gate although there is no set date, my time will come and my mind will hum, they will bang on the drum to signify when i come. My mind will rejoice and hoist the flag of success from the chest of unrest, till that day comes will i be uneasy, till that day will others miss read me. The day is possible each and every day, it will click and wash away the dismay, until then I can only be the person i am, I am merely a man with an un opened can.