Wednesday, November 9, 2011


I'm quieter with poetry in my life.
not poems that rhyme or poems that describe.
but poems that soften or insult or outline.
words that verbalize my unspeakable.


I've spent a lot of my life trying to be different. If all my friends were blonde, I had to be brunette. If everyone liked one band, I hated them. If everyone was doing life one way, I had to do it differently.

It has mostly worked in my favor, but more so it just speaks to my strange sense of self.

So as misanthropic as I pretend to be, the reality is that I crave humanity and community and acceptance the same way we all do. And this is all to say that I've found it, among the other misanthropes of course.

There is this sense of community that I didn't even know I was missing. It's full of insightful conversation and searching souls. I feel more at home in my body and life now than at any other time. I am finding peace with ambiguity, and a sense of wonder at living in my questions.

also-there is this new thing happening.
and it's happening so seamlessly that I've forgotten to feel skeptical.
I suppose this is the best moment of my young adult life and soon it's going to get even harder.

it's a shame, really, the ephemeral nature of these moments of clarity.

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