What Is My Diagnosis?

What Is My Diagnosis
Who am I
If not merely a symptom cluster
Describing malfunctioning thinking and behavior
Unbefitting of the “norm”.
Does it leave me
Otherwise colorless,
Diluted, devalued and distant
From those I love
And those I want so desperately to love me.
Are my characteristics that fractured
That my soul misunderstands my purpose.
Can I get in touch
And touch
Or, does the diagnosis
Preclude me from
The gentleness of humanity.

Always Ready

I have to take Monday
To recover from my fun day
The weekend so savvy and wild
Winding down in style
Abating the bridge between cumbersome
And oh so awesome
Wielding a tale
Of mercy and glee
Success or fail
The weekend was me
Able to move
In the open grass and air
Re-find my groove
Since the week I did bare
Hardly a breath in the endless work week
Until my Friday night sneak peak
Oh Bless the weekends
For they preserve me so fair
Out of the stale, business clogged air.
On I wander into the night
My head hits the pillow
With dream-time delight
Check off another day of billow
“Till the weekend is right.

Alive

Living Just Outside My Comfort Zone
Between the given and the unknown
On the tight rope edge
Knowing just a wedge
Of what is known
Debating to be shown

Just Outside of my comfort zone
All is known
Sewn, embedded
Where I am headed
Deep beyond my wildest dreams
Colorful rhythms and reams

Nude to the world
Actually, invisibly pearled
There is only anticipation
To reach elation
And predictable
To be stuck in irritable

Live in the light
Where there can be no fight
Driving down the highway
Of the skyway
Illuminated, with what waits
Beyond the next turn of fate.

Teen Transition

Such challenging years
Not yet operating on all gears
Change is all there is
And of course, uncertainty
The pressure is on...
To choose: a path
Prepare for the work
Of adulthood.

But it seems like it will never be here
And yet it is,
Mocking the childhood giggles
With a stern, task master
Tightening the reins on reality.

All the efforts
Or all the goofing off
Are now called to the table
To cumulatively assess
Where do we go from here?

We may wallow
In never, never land
Shutting our eyes
Until our parents kick us out
Or we are assisted with an “easy” break

Or just maybe,
It is a countdown
To the magic “18”
When we are suddenly free to do
What we think we really want to

Rebel or angel
The plunge is near
Off that perilous cliff
Tossing us to madness or viability.

Enough With Seething Remorse

Grudge collector,
Sludge collector
Smudges
When one fudges
Thereafter, it always drudges.

Forgiveness
Frees the adrenal glands fury
More storage space
For memories we hold dear.

Provides us with a cushion
To soften old age
Without the smear.
Harkening to pleasantry, not fear
Milking out the rage
of the new venom-less snake
Into a crystal, clear lake.