This is for the kid who is misguided somehow
or tricked, just like I was
or fooled into thinking
that something about them is faulty or wrong
or mis-wired
or otherwise imperfect.

But the fact is no.
You couldn’t be imperfect if you tried.
Believe me.

Good morning, my old friend Chaos.
It’s me again,
trying hard to find my way
and trying harder to defy the ideas
which have consumed me for way too long.

I find myself on the verge of another impasse
or crossroads, or perhaps I am on the verge
of another choice, or change
or decision. And again,
I go back and forth and walk down the same streets,
which have recently changed, yet
everything is still the same.

1)

It’s time to go back,
or if anything,
now is the time to get back to it,
and by “it”,
I mean the source of my thrill
or the meaning behind my life.

What is this?
What is this thing
in me?

What are these ideas
which spin around in our mind,
and how is it that they mutate or multiply,
at least a thousand times or more
and then they drive us mad
or crazy or,
they send us off
or drive us away in different directions?

And meanwhile, all we want is peace.

I need to stop.
I need to figure this out, somehow,
or try to find a way
to level the playing field,
or if not,
perhaps I can find a way to
reverse the polarity
or make a shift
so the weight is less,
and my leverage is better
or, at minimum,
the pain can be less
consequential.

And if it were true
or if it was so,
or if the facts were that yes,
my insecurities were all real
and that yes, my body was as I saw it
or, that in my assumptions that, at best,
all I could be was awkward,
then yes,
naturally,
I would assume that everyone saw me
the same as I saw myself –
inaccurately.

Ah, Mr. Mathias.
I knew you well
and so did our old friend Mr. Chaos,
I believe.

You taught me well and
you taught me that I knew more
than I thought.

Sometimes, music is the only thing that helps.
You know?
Chaos comes in like both,
an expected unwanted guest,
and just like old times,
the heartbeat picks up
like pig meat before the slaughter
and the mind moves too fast
for me to find peace.

But the music helps.

Yes, I’m aware that the book
is never the same as the movie,
or that life does not come
with the so-called “CliffsNotes”
or an abbreviated version
to ease the study of one another, but yes,
I get it.

No one takes the time
to read between the lines anymore
nor would it seem
that anyone looks to dedicate
the time it takes to really know someone,
or something,
or to dig deeper than just the surface level. 

There are nights when all is quiet
and the moon comes through the blinds
to leave a beam of moonlight
with a bluish tint across the sheets on my bed
or the whiteness on my face.
The blanket is off of me, and then on,
and then off again.

I am up, of course, and awake as usual.
I am thinking of random things
which somehow multiplies
into other thoughts
that take on a direction of their own.