The feeling that you're the exception. The one who's body isn't made from skin and muscle. That underneath this protective layer are bones and tissue. That my brain is inside my skull, confined by my identity and comparable to every other female. Not to suggest that I am above or that I'm different, but that I don't feel scientific. I don't feel like my body can be predicted by an individual I've never met. I feel like I breathe real air that only soothes my being and not my components.

Lying on this plateau, sweating in this heat.
from my skin, its puddling around my hands - my feet.
I am surrounded.
By nothing meaningful. I've never been so alone.
I am so in control, yet so un-united with myself.
Can I hold myself together?
Oh, the ball just started rolling...

Where does my love and consistency lie? Absorbed in this earth,
no longer tangible. Illogical it seems.
Erased from brain, from heart.

I have the garden, I am fully grateful. Beauty still -
It reigns. But I'm sitting in an orchard and all the near trees have passed.
The shade I loved so much. So gone. So lost.
I'm sweating on this plateau.
My palms are wet.

It never falls on needed ears, always my own.

I'm a paralyzed blank staring body. Empty of all emotions. For the split minute. How I wish these minutes would stay. My mind, the flood, comes back from all my suppression. Out my eyes, not out of my soul - I wish. I am human, with gardens growing from my stomach. Out of my mouth - they bloom. These words... do they find their resting place? A settled piece of earth.
A beautiful garden I am, with withering plants with no home.
I am nothing but soil - ready to hold beauty.
Where am I? My goal was happiness during this time. My season, my time. I feel nothing but yet I feel everything. I am nothing since I have no recognition.
I'm wandering mazes and there's no outlet. Where is my home?
My sanctuary.
Where do I feel myself?
That home is gone. I'm the ivy that's pulled off it's stand.

my brain is a knot, a neverending line of thoughts
overboard i feel and i'm drowning in the sea
material over person.
overboard it seems.
We talk in collisions of thought, bouncing on posts
careful not to fall.
Where are we? We are lost.
I drive and find my new best friend, a vestibule to follow
one that i can streamline behind
put my mind in neutral and let it roll.
these thoughts, they come to mind.
my light in my hands are dying.
material over person.

Tap, tap, tap.

 To the beat, beat beat. 

They walk, walk in sync, sync. 

My life is a piano. We are all pressing the keys. 

The keys. 

You pass, I pass, we both pass each other. 

Music to our ears... music in mine & music in yours. Here is where they connect - I smile. One excited moment after another. 

Tap, tap, tap to the beat, beat. 

My beat, your beat. Our mutual beat together. 

It's like a bridge among two strange worlds, the other- a world I have no idea. 

Plugged into my own and letting it consume me. 

This tap, tap to the beat, beat 

that we are making with our feet, feet 

gives me a tunnel to that world, or a bridge. 

My life is a piano, and we tap, tap to this beat, beat.

I am ordered to write crisply and creatively to express my ideas to my clients. 

Clean canvas smoothes my worries before I get the chance to trial and error. When my pen touches this clean canvas, it is ruined forever with my thoughtless and ridiculous expectations.

Oh! The anguish destroys me. 

All the complaints I get when my room and mind are filled with balled up and rejected mistakes. It's a landfill. Why so much waste they always ask me. 

This field is GREEN!

Your life cannot be separate from the sea of pollution. 

Pollution in my brain, commander sir. Do you understand?

But my mind is inhibited by everything, and I always need a empty canvas. 

One day, I followed a small insect with my pen because it beat manufacturing ideas. 

Manufacturing ideas.

So, as I'm balancing on this ball, sweat dripping off my face and onto my shiny shoes... I begin to wonder if this is how I am supposed to be. Juggling makes my arms weak and sometimes I just want to walk away, but I feel like it makes everyone happier... and sometimes myself. The paint on my face feels like plastic wrap and it's slowing suffocating me. The bleeds down into my eyes and makes me lose my balance.

I am walking mazes within this tent still searching for my soul. Finding pieces but not the whole.