I have come to the realization that I have not written a lot lately. I do not believe it is a lack of inspiration, by any means. There is no shortage of influences and incentives to encourage me to write. I feel as though I cannot find the proper way to put these feelings and thoughts into words that will somehow make sense. I mean, that was the entire focus of my last post and poem. I suppose I can spend some time explaining it, to those of you that read it, then scratched your heads, and wondered, “What is this nonsense?”
Have you ever had so much you want to say? You have all these emotions and thoughts, and you just need to release. You feel like you’re going to explode if you try to hold them in, and you’ll implode if you somehow convert them to some sort of language, because you fear the other person will not receive it the way you intended.
I cannot help but think of that stupid, stupid song, Say Something. It was quite popular, and I suppose it still is. The line they consistently repeat goes, “Say something, I’m giving up on you.” It’s so terribly accurate in the sense that sometimes we will pour our hearts out in words and these sentences hoping to drive a point home or cause some sort of reaction, and we are left with nothing. So instead of selling out every thing I am feeling, and all the thoughts I have had of late, they remain reticent; hidden, guarded, and secretive.
I’m standing here with all my words, raining down around me. Dozens of paragraphs, all arranged in a way to tell this clever story of a boy who simply has too many feelings, too many thoughts, and not one soul to tell them too. And they just take their stupid umbrellas, pop them open, and try their best not to get wet.
My favorite line from that poem was this:
Never have I encountered such a conundrum as this; the imperative to disclose sedulous and lucid feelings, adulterated and awry in the segue from heart to mind to lips.
Before, I used to just throw my words around, and speak my mind, and try to explain my way of thinking. Lately, though, it seems no one agrees or understands my philosophy. I’m concerned that quite possibly, I may be crazy or insane. Do not make the mistake of thinking me naive, because I have pretty solid reasoning for every one of my beliefs. And naive is too meager of a word.
And words are meager things, are they not? That’s a reference to an episode in the Walking Dead, by the way. I do not recall what episode, but the Santa guy says something along those lines. Yes, Hershel. Santa guy. Clever, right?
I am losing, and words are not enough. They are not sufficient. And I am disappointed, frustrated, and absolutely lost. And I am digressing from the original point of this whole post. I was going to explain the poem. I used complicated words and complex vocabulary to express that no matter how elegant or eloquent my language gets, it still will fail to carry the essence of my thoughts and feelings to the listening ear. Only one person figured that part out. One out of like twenty different people who read it. Props, right?
Anyway, after some reflection, I had another realization. I suppose I have always been somewhat aware of this, but it has really struck home, especially due to recent life changes and circumstances. I think more than most normal people should. I feel easily, and sometimes my emotions get the best of me. For the longest time, I was practically ashamed of this. I decided it was a good idea to keep my thoughts to myself, and contain and even suppress feelings; being too happy was never a good idea, and letting small or large travesties bring me down was a sign of weakness.
I have decided, though, that this is who I am and I do not need to change that for anyone. So what if people don't understand me or how I decide to think or approach things? They say sensitive guys are the worst kind. I don't consider myself over-sensitive. I just am not afraid of thinking about things, and I am not afraid of feeling.
As my little poem suggests, I am in no way expecting a single person to understand. My fear used to be that people would be unable to properly understand what I am thinking. I used to worry about people misinterpreting things I say or not understanding my feelings on things. My conclusion, though, is that what they think or say or how they react doesn't matter. I'm happy that I'm a thinker.
Because in the end, when things fall apart, I know how to handle myself in good time, and prepare for the recovery, moving on, and bettering who I am. In the end, it is my uncanny ability to understand my own feelings and thought,s and my methods of taking that understanding to do what is best for me and fight what will make me happy, that will bring about a result in just that.
The poem was about not wanting the world to see you or hear you because the world will not understand. It is about more than just words, more than just thoughts, and more than just feelings, but who you are as an individual. It is about realizing your emotions, your deliberations, and every facet of your being is something a single person or a crowd will never be able to accept or understand. Sometimes, yes, such feelings and thoughts should, and should have, remained secret. I know that now. But sometimes all we need is someone who understands.
Anyway. That's it. I'm going to go for round 3 and explore this beautiful city. Peace out, girl scouts.
And feel free, my dear friends, to grab your umbrellas. Don't get too wet. I'll be here, dancing in the rain.
"You don't know me. You don't even care."
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