Labor Daze

With the stars in the sky above me, I rolled down my windows and flew, the wind playing over my hand. In a very self absorbed moment, I thought:

I frustrate.

I'm good at it.

I do things differently.

I take words literally and I hardly ever speak anything but figuratively.

My silence drives people crazy.

I have to take what it is in my head and translate it. Sometimes I get lost.

I get lost in eyes and voices and the way lips move and mouths form words.

It's splattered on canvases that rest behind my own eyes. I have to make sense of it.

I am slow. I am slow to respond and slow to believe.

I don't connect easily, hardly at all, ever.

It's not easy to know me. I don't make it simple.

I have heavily guarded fortresses that need to be climbed over, through, and demolished.

Just when you think you've done it, four more walls are erected with a smirk.

I stare at nothing at all. Sometimes in the middle of sentences or stories or moments.

I stare for too long at people. It makes them uncomfortable.

Uneasy, just like me.

What I see isn't what is in front of me. I dream vividly, often without sleeping.

I don't drive very fast. Almost ever.

I can't understand anger. I don't understand a lot.

I question my sanity, all of the time. That's normal, right?

I can't beat back the fear that this creates in my head.

I chase it away with music. I stand in crowds and let it vibrate against the walls of my chest, filling me up.

But it still swallows me, sometimes, and my eyes become swollen.

I make eye contact with heroes and read about pictures.

I count seconds. Stare at clocks. Flip through channels.

I wish I could turn my mind off so easily.

I try to teach myself something new constantly. But not recently. Focus and priorities after all.

Words are meaningless.

I am scared. I'm scared all of the time.

I took a deep breath and looked up at the stars again. I thought of mice. I thought of dimples and moments that I'm not allowed to get away with.