What do you do, at 32 and 7 months, when you realize that you have no one, absolutely no one, to entirely open up to? No parent, no siblings, no friends, no professionals…just an ever present internal combustion system that keeps backfiring and causing minor breakdowns. Being shored up for 15.5 years will allow some overflow, I suppose. But what to do with said overflow?!? I don’t know, I’ve choked it down for this long, letting bits flow through poetry. But no one reads my poetry, no one gets the meanings of my poems, no one is willing to try and understand where I am and where I am coming from.
Hey…this is the life I know. I make myself a part of the communities in which I am involved, but I am sequestered, partly of my own doing. It is what I know, it is safe. I know what it’s like to be shunned, to be forgotten, to be alone, in every sense of the word, to have something you need to talk about but having no one to talk to…considering the traumatic events of my past, that’s a hell of a lot to internalize. And thus a protective shell was constructed, a husk that no one knows is present and no one cares to know. Because, as I have been shown, no one really cares to know me beyond the surface acquaintance.
And so I live.
Hitchhiker 