Eh. I’ll Get Used To It.

As an artist,


has a draw to it.

That thrill of picking up

the pieces and

encouraging not only yourself,

but others to see

that light can come

from even the most heartbreaking



Oh those poor souls

that cross my path…

those that fall victim

to my emotionally

crippled mind.

I try and build



but what happens

when they crash into

the walls I refuse to

take down…

my emotion-ADD refuses

to let me look over

the barricade.

Most likely,

there will be nothing,

no one.

I am not under the

delusion that I am a person

that cannot be forgotten.


But now I wonder…

I am standing at a

cross roads, or a

junction, or perhaps

a slightly veering exit, but frankly,

it feels like a round-about.




someone is daring me

to stretch my cozy comfort zone.

For the first time,

I am praying that he

is not another poor soul

who stumbled upon me.

For the first time,

I would be okay if I was

the one acting the part of the

poor soul.

But more importantly,

I am not entirely convinced

that there is a “poor soul”

in this emerging story.


It is a terrifying concept.

Not having an exit plan

in the back of my brain,

ready to deploy before

it is even needed.



Eh. Oh well,

I’ll get used

to it I suppose.


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