As a wild mare I trod. The more you try to wrangle me up the more I resist, even to my own detriment. Even food I will resist until I have no choice.
I will put myself out there and mingle as if I needed it, but in a split second I become recluse. I drain my batteries and recharge them with privacy. I can take people or leave them, but not too much of either.
As much as I try to give of myself to others, there is only so much I know how, so I turn to the pen. I write stories and poems as if they need my words to live. Truth is I need them for me to live.
I march to the beat of my own drum yet all the same need someone to hear my rhythm and tell me it's good. I play and practice solo but need a band to rock those rhythms to.
I analyze and study myself like a doctor for answers, yet still feel an enigma to myself and somehow others understand me more. The more I try to know the less I understand until I finally decide its better for me to simply be and nothing else.
I escape within my own head and dream of worlds fantastical and different. I create and control as the author and for once I'm in control because in reality we truly have no say. One could say I lose myself there to escape the harsh realities and you may be more than half right but yet even then... a good fantasy needs conflict too .
Due to my disability, I easily empathize and sympathize for I know how it feels to be set apart. And feeling set apart leads to feeling singled out. Feeling singled out leads to insecurity. So if you criticize me, don't misunderstand my overreaction. Chances are I already know and already beat myself up about it, so leave me alone and let it be.
I feel so much at times that I feign apathy for who can understand exactly what I feel anyway? If I tell others how I feel will they understand and if they don't will they judge me for it? What if not telling them is worse because it's not being honest. Honestly... I overthink and drive myself crazy alot too.
Though writing makes me feel somehow more complete, I know deep down that at times expression is never fully expressed. Sometimes there just isn't enough words. 846Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡcJoyYtzHdy
In the end, I'm a perfect paradox to myself and sometimes to others but that's okay, for I am created to be just what I am...and that is me.
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