we give meaning to the meaningless
and by extension form to the formless
in order to retain hope in the hopeless.
on a long enough timeline
we become but a vague memory of
something fondly remembered:
a ghost from a season of chaos.
i know what i am
and though we each beg silently to be something more
self-awareness is a heavy thing
i have no illusions–
none of this has meaning past its momentary transience.
i do not belong here.
i speak volumes but say nothing,
for words have no meaning when they are met with silence
you hear nothing of value
and patiently wait for my graceless, overdue exit
i have overstayed your reluctant welcome,
a persistant reminder of momentary weakness.
we seek happiness
imbuing the insubstantial with substance
by sheer force of will
desperate to be something more than inconsequential.
wanting to be seen and known,
to be loved like i love–
these are expectations unjust and unrealistic.
i must quiet the storm in me
learn to ignore the stain of sadness
become shadow and waste
and remember that the vast sea of dreams in youth
are only myth.
we become who we deserve to be.