Delving in

  What, why, when, how, who, if, maybe, could it, am I?


  So many, many, many questions that I do not as of yet have answers to, not that I have a desire to have all of the answers, but reality being what it is, and how it is, and knowing that I am in my own little world most of the time, it needs to be, to exist, somewhere outside of my own little internalization. I must be, It must be a reality close to me to survive, to exist, to allow. To be perceived by the knowing, the intimacy of dreams.
  I want for tomorrow to come without incident, to be a new day, a new life, and new desire, a new enemy to chase. I want, I want, and I know that in wanting I will eventually perceive the world in terms that are beyond desire, and roll in the reality in which I must certainly live.
  If in the living, the lusting, the chasing, the fighting, the flight from all of the previously stated, I am able to passionately latch onto some sort of outward persona, to "Become" whatever, whoever, and whenever I am supposed to be, yet also maintain myself,to some smallish degree, at least in the little box- the one in which I so long lived... I will have succeeded at life.
  Looking around me, seeing through their eyes, it is so frightening to see myself as they see me. I seem to be so out of place, such a candidate for the isle of misfit toys, I am, I was broken. A rag doll without her rags, not limp, but empty, devoid of fluff, of happy stuff, the stuff that matters.
  For the answers, the ones that lie beneath, the ones that matter, beyond the scratched lens on the surface of the water, what lies deeper, buoyant, bobbing gently below the surface, perfectly balanced, I must weigh myself down to reach.