I miss the sound of her voice and the color of her hair.
I miss the smell of tomatoes ripening on summer vines accompanied by the smooth texture of paper beneath fingertips.
I miss the irony of innocence complete with virginal nightgown and the misconception of a future.
I miss the time before I knew what wrong was, when being meant simply being, not judging every fleeting thought or feeling for what it might or might not be in the grand scheme of things.
I miss the simplicity of seemingly being a young girl taken care of by her care takers, those chosen for the tasks they chose to be chosen for.
I miss being wanted by those beings who were nothing but greedy, needy things that succeeded in nothing but needing.
These are the things I miss most and I feel amiss without being used for something to get somewhere, so maybe my life is beautiful, just where it needs to be, not being abused.
True happiness does not gloat.
It has neither envy or greed.
True happiness uplifts everyone around.
It wants nothing more than for all to feel content.
True happiness is a conscious effort.
It takes simple acts of kindness to understand the place for sadness.
True happiness is voracious in consuming small hatreds.
It alters the self-loathing we all feel at times, teaching positive vibrations.
True happiness is not obtained by wants or needs.
It can be attained by consistently making considerate motions.
True happiness is not affected by circumstance.
It is meant to be lived as a lifestyle, to be believed in and embraced.
True happiness is not just another out of reach concept.
It is not easy, but it can be accomplished.
I am convinced I know nothing
when asked for specifics.
I appreciate vague ideas I can misconstrue,
so that I might get ahead in a conversation
I have decided is uncomfortable.
I am wary of subjects I am familiar with.
Undue questions are deceiving.
As if my abilities to attend to small details
were an indication of intelligence,
or a supposed lack thereof.
I get no reference to this, that, or the other
despite entertaining ideas I have never care for.
Unconditionally distraught by inconsistent evidence
brought on by unfocused determinations,
each leading away from the other.
No boundaries to limit new horizons
discovered by the light of the moon
on a night it nearly lost itself
eclipsed by the eternal sun.
There is commitment in adventure
a contract built between the known
giving leeway to the unknown.
Exploration of perspectives
leads to eventual new perceptions
maturing into an inexplicable sense of self.
I never had a key for a locked house,
until I learned to change door knobs myself.
There were broken handles, bent hinges, and holes,
but bungee cords secured insides at night–
unless sneaking hands wouldn’t cease.
Twenty years later, I still fear the dark,
I cannot sleep with doors unlocked,
I run away from the lights I turn off,
a creak in the hall wakes me,
as late-night knocks on windows still break me.
I have been hiding from writing–
Despite all my longing
To hold pen against paper again
For I cannot escape her,
With no room to breathe,
Weighed down by the sea of her tears–
Hot and salt-crusted;
From years of disillusioned stumbling.
My foundation has crumbled away
As my words have fallen flat
And I am struck motionless–
Fear in headlights approaching too quickly.
She has found me
I cannot escape.
I am a loud hand-talker
With every breath
My face speaks volumes
Over my actual speech–
Wrought with intrepid movement
Stampeding, barely breathing
Caught off guard–
Without a chance
For redeeming untoward favors–
Unwanted, but earned with no effort.
I would like to take a moment
To concern myself with someone else
Selflessly reflecting on their being
Without being overtly intrusive
Which I tend to be–
Delving into the depths
Of unsuspecting characters
Without them noticing
As I’m distracting myself from eye contact–
Which always leads to trouble.