I wish there were a way to cut the communication off.
The frequent abrasive thought.
I see the drive everywhere I go.
Still the question remains…
is there something wrong with me?
To strive simply.
The static of it all sits…unwittingly…in the corner like a child’s time out.
Every room filled with pockets of clout.
In my quiet room, mantras of ‘let it be.’
A growing pain in the pit of my stomach.
As I shake the hands of the masses.
The only cure?
A blind ‘I’?
The only antidote…stop asking, why?
It only takes the elusive moment to become what others want us to be.
One tear of unknown origin…dismissed as, silly notions.
Messages in a bottle adrift on a conformed ocean.