Around the world, my head spins

around this world never getting my head around

the concept that exists.

That there is something here that I must be doing

and yet I can't seem

to make myself get it done.

I keep going around and around in this endless circle

that has no end,

searching and seeking the answers to my life

and my meaning and yet there is no end to this journey that I'm on.

Spinning around, arms flung out

I create this place of stillness inside of myself

so that I can focus my eyesight on what is in front of me,

unfortunately there isn't much and everyone is angry

at my withdrawal from reality.

My nearsightedness blurs the future

I can not conceive more than is placed in front of me

and yet if I could stretch my arms a mile long

I can feel the tangible light of day creeping into my universe

bursting so bright and sunny far away from my body.

Around and around I cling so tightly to nothing,

the velvet darkness that envelopes my soul is my blanket.

I fling myself down the hill side,

sideways first,

log rolling and hitting every stick and rock on my way down,

I can't see because if I open my eyes I might get something stuck in them.

Around and down, I go into the freezing fridged waters that are everyone else,

so cold and withdrawn and yet I need to drink from the cold people to parch my thirst,

and their coldness sinks like a rock into my stomach

causing unease but easing the ache I have.

I dive off of the high dive, so afraid of hitting nothing but air.

My existence is so strange and I can not help but feel

out of place all around everything.

My heart beats in time to every thrum of life,

the flutter of wings, the sigh of lovers, the hoofs of beasts, the gnawing of insects

my being throbs to the time of life.

I am so aware and so different from this thing that begat me.

I need to touch and be touched and yet these hands of mine are sat upon

like an errant child I stay.

Stuck underneath me, for fear that I might break something and have to pay for it.

I run around this track hoping to be beautiful and looked up to.

I backtrack every moment wondering if I've lost something and

where I might have placed it.

I swim in sluggish circles,

wishing for the tight confines of my mothers womb

while at the same time yearning for the freedom of the soaring eagle,

soaring and circling far from everything but air.

Around and around in my head I travel,

seeking and never finding what it is that will make me whole.

I feel lost and yet I do not seek the key of the map,

I fear that knowledge of where I am will sunder my selfish thoughts,

and give me a purpose that I am not yet ready to take responsibility for.

I love myself, I think I am beautiful,

and kind and generous

and I hate myself for not being all of these things all of the time.

I am other things that people can't even see,

and no one who understands has an answer

and everyone who doesn't understand has an answer that doesn't fit.

Don't give me answers I'm not ready for them yet and your wrong anyways,

I promise.

If I don't even know myself

than how can you know me?

I am going to travel so far and so wide,

following Galahad and Arthur on their amazing quest to seek the relics of someone who truly was good.

Who needs relics,

shouldn't I just emulate?

I could come back hoping for a passionate Guinevere of my own and would still be dissatisfied with myself

because I can love someone else completely it is myself that I can not love.

I will spin and dance around and around on the dance floor,

with blazing lasers tearing through the darkness,

seeking my eyes in the throng of disillusioned youth that are my fellow countrymen and women.

Yell at the top of your lungs for me and I will not hear you

only because I am lost in my own world and cannot find my way home again.

Do we even have a home?

I cannot say.

Even if I had one I'm not sure if I would go home,

whether from the desire of freedom or because of my shame I cannot say.

My debts to others hearts lay heavy on me

even when I owe them nothing

because I gave them all of myself in the past.

Don't yell at me,

don't yell my name because I will shriek and cry,

and only hear the hate in your words

and your fear

and find none of your strengths and concerns for me.

I know you love me,

but even that I cannot take and accept without feeling guilty about it.

I fly far away from you and everyone else.

I am now here by myself

confused and scared, trembling with my fear and my passion,

because when I lay eyes on the world they smolder with passion for life

and I can not lift my eyes high enough to see the sun.

When and if I do, my eyes will shine with the light of the solar,

sparkling stars in my eyes

intent on searing away the fat of the world

and seeking only the lean strength that is the meat of existence.

I look down the length of my body

finding nothing wrong

and yet nothing is right, because no one loves it,

I have lost touch with myself

even as my hands hold my body together,

stretch every sinew far and make it hurt if only to feel something.

No, even that doesn't always work to make you feel does it?

My neck and shoulders ache from the burden that I carry

and, like the doddering beast,

I don't even look up or behind to examine the burden,

to determine whether it is worth carrying

or even my own to shoulder.

How am I ever to soar and fly

with this heavy weight yoked about me.

I would have to be the fabled Roc to carry such a thing.

I would rather be the phoenix,

igniting a byre of pure love to everyone around me.

Reborn again and again, pure enough that my tears could heal all ills.

And like our fabled good man who cares not for his relics

I could be remembered and cherished.

And again the waters swirl around and in and out of this lost city

as Atlantis falls into the depths

why does it sink if not for being able to keep afloat,

shamed and distained by its own Gods,

I will not erase any of this because it is impossible to erase history, isn't it?

I can see the water filling the streets and engulfing my home

and raging against walls if only to ease back down into the depths of Poseidon's domain someday.

My head is fair fit to burst with all of these water logged thoughts,

sifting and shifting the sands of my thoughts

and my thoughts are as numerous and the grains upon that beach head

and even as grand and as fearsome as that desert in Africa.

And even these sands are caught up on the winds and swirl

around and around my face, stinging all of my exposed flesh and shame, again and again,

each second feeling like minutes

and minutes akin to hours,

it goes on.

My life is all of this and none of it.