I Live in a world...

I live in a world where I seek the right direction but the signs are all upside down, backwards and skewed. The path of least resistance is fraught with thorns and blisters as sharp, innocent looking pebbles arise from nowhere and cut my feet. This town I wander through as no discernible name, or not one that I can pronounce, anyway.

I can't tell if they are all speaking the same language or naught. The accent is so foreign and thick.

They all wear the same expressions but each carries a different meaning. Their faces fall and whisper, hushed tones and secrets unbeknownst to me. The paper masks, on Popsicle sticks, wave to and fro with the slightest hint of breeze. Their words, how strange, each word has a dozen meanings...but they all fall onto my deaf ears.

No longer do I believe their feigned smiles or open hand. Too oft it simple ends in a slap. My face has grown red and sore. The thousand page dictionary that I need for each encounter, grows heavy and cumbersome. I set it on the low shelf. It makes a hearty bookend.

She walked with tiny tornadoes twisting about her. I see her face and no longer know what, if anything, it means.

My weary, holy rucksack, ascends from the floor. I pull on my hood and shag it low enough to partially cover my eyes and the view. I leave my two cents on the counter. There are no farewells, just another dashed hope and series of misspoken words. I'll leave it to the barkeeper to figure out. I don't really want to spend any more time nose deeply imbedded in that dictionary manual thingy

trying to figure this one out. I was reading it all wrong anyway.

I am this mixed up box of jingle this and resounding that. I try so hard to adhere to my moral compass and keep it pointed in the right direction. If only the earth wouldn't shift so dramatically and without warning.

I just want to do what is right, fair and the bestest. I want a quiet life with gentle friends and mini, harmless adventures. I want to be able to adjust to the unexpected ups and downs without needing surgical or psychiatric intervention. I can stand on a pedestal, as long as I build it and alternate between standing upon it and being the crowd.

I want my whispers to be heard and my words to be taken seriously, or, at least taken into account, stamped with a Validation sticker, and contemplated.

I complain and whine, to no avail, because I know where my reality lies...it's borders and fringe. Time to put that bottle down and fall off this stool.