No One Cares to Hear

I listen to my heart. I also listen to my head. The two aren’t always in sync, but they’re the closest thing I got to a conscious. So what do you do? Other than feeling like I should be dragged away by a lab coat. I find that venting my emotions really clears me out. Offers me a different perspective or at least a new angle to view. Old George is laying at my feet, while I peck away at this tiny keypad. Pushing out homogenized pearls of wisdom, no one but myself cares to hear.

I wish I had a more glamorous style, but hell, I jumped off the style train damn near 40 years ago. So your stuck with this, a broken soul and a half-ass body held together with SRS meds and heart medicine. It’s sad I know. But I learned my lessons along the riverbanks and the abusive relationships I fell into. I resist anyone feeling bad for me. But when you walked a tightrope alone for so long, the calluses form in just the right places.

Preferring my own company, I wallow in self-pity when it suits me. But then there are days I could use a best friend. But in this free-flowing society of digital media, we are isolated now more than ever. Peeking out our doors only to grab our deliveries. But there are moments, like just now, when I see your face. And I’m reminded of who I am. Not some broken soul or damaged commodity. But instead, I’m the one that see’s you in his dreams. Pushing through the BS, and knowing the real you.

 

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