An open window
halfway shut keeps me optimistic that everything around me will make sense…eventually. The air escapes inside and the sweat on my fingertips shiver with heated anticipation. And I write to find truth; to find the answers of hidden questions within my own mind. I write in Bold to express tears of laughter that cover up a pain that have bullied me for years. But now I’m fighting back with underlined run-on sentences of a built up strength only paused by a comma (,). Traffic noise argues with my thoughts…temporarily. And I write again. There’s a lot of bullshit in this world, it’s usually the bullshit I misspell…on purpose. Lies challenging every moment I think is honest; exclamation points (!) non-expressive to the heart.
I search for truth in strange places.
A trash can…
sitting empty in the corner of my room is filled with cluttered confusion. A stench lingers out and blends with the oxygen I need to think. Time can be waste and so can life when we fail to understand the little things that we are quick to throw away. Like a half written stanza on a torn piece of paper. It deserved to grow but now it makes it home in that trash can of incompleteness. And I write. To unravel thoughts into something more clear but the only clarity is within the chaotic streaming of consciousness in what we believe to be truth.
I find truth in strange places.
Tarringo T. Vaughan