Incidental Inspiration, Honest Poetry and Why, Why?

In a world mostly driven by it's relationship to stuff-- "is it enough stuff? is it stuff enough?"-- I wander at times blindly hoping to be inspired... I wake up critical of my place in the world, talking to people I shouldn't talk to and wanting to make an impact (if only on myself). I returned recently from a rockin' ten day adventure in Vieques, PR and many things entered my brain.... I have an insatiable need to know why... Motivation is 9 tenths or something like that.... perhaps this is the reason why I'm pulled to the field of psychology the most. It's not enough for me to just be able to observe that something is-- why it is and how it became... therein lies the meat of it... How can we every truly communicate and understand one another without these nuts and bolts... and we must know these inner workings of ourselves before we can even begin to delve into the components of others. I challenge myself and others to reveal one thing that they've spent time thinking about in terms of self and express what you've learned to someone you trust. We spend and let the media spend time criticizing and analyzing people's levels of connectedness to one another...what are we afraid of? Connections break down, yes. People die, yes. Take the gamble-- reach out and touch someone... I leave you with a honest poem. Of my heart, of my mind:

3/17/10 (Untitled)

In my more powerful moments…

I think- you did not deserve me…

You weren’t worthy of my attention and the biography will make small reference to you…

In my more tempered moments…

I think- you were in need of me…

So we found one another and your world became bigger and I was able to discover that need

doesn’t equate love…

I learned that some people rather lie than be alone—that this happens when we put ourselves second…

-lovers have been my charity, my product to sell

-my ability to forget so much of myself to see someone smile

A joy junkie

--maybe just a junkie depending on the direction of the esteem

And that feeling persists—“I will be whole when I am loved”

Maybe we are these split beings—always trying to become one with another—but the pieces won’t fit-don’t fit-didn’t fit… they do for someone—but the pieces together were only as good as they were separate…

I am liar—a romantic with no faith in romance… the dame delusion from 17 except I don’t believe it now… perhaps I didn’t then and that’s why I’ve remained sad somewhere inside….

I want to sound cool and say I’m bored/misunderstood.

I am a poser and my truths are convenient. But aren’t everyone’s?

Escaping and trapping over and over—the analysis makes me sound like the rebel-tragic-poet I want to be? I am?

Too lazy for the pressure—I am an incidental tourist in counter-culture—bored with the status quo—willing to challenge the moral standard

Unapologetically attached to youth and its purpose—the strange way it inspires and never lets us forget—full circle and I will break hearts as mine has been before the end—now older I know what’s required to love correctly and completely and I have less of a taste for it…

My recovery from us seems vague and again something I put all the work into…

--my martyrdom bores me…

And this is why the scene must shift—I must show that I have not become complacent—no silent acceptance of predictable futures

this is the moment before next.