The lost ones are my favorites; the ones who are walking barefoot and naked amongst crowds of fancied out liars. The ones who almost got it, the ones who kind of have it figured out; the ones who laugh as they think about the past and the pressure it held.
I walk with the hopeful ones who definitely have no clue but are at least trying. I wait with the patient ones who have been tested more than enough and still cannot catch a break. I dance with the weirdos and the wall flowers; we trip over expectations as we line the dance floors of society. I look at your face and you stare into my eyes that were never blue or green; and I feel enough simply because; and you never even have to say it.
I write for the readers who cannot but. I write for the thinkers who need to stop and need to try something else for a change. I dread with the brave ones the what ifs and the I wish we could. My singularity melts as I think about the whole, as I think about you as you read this and how I could possibly make you feel even if for 2 minutes.
The sickness fades and becomes part of us, it begins to create a home in our lives as we wonder how we could’ve possibly changed. So peer out with me and unto me as I hold your attention for the next few seconds; walk another sentence and give yourself some time to figure sh*t out.
Nothing is as it seems…so who are you?