Thoughts
Written as I try
To sleep
With bizarre places
For new
Lines.
I lie in my bed,
the laptop open, my mind buzzing.
I think.
Who am I?
I look down and see that growth.
It's wrong. It's not meant to be there.
But it is.
It hurts to be who I am,
and it hurts not to be,
because even when I am,
I'm not.
Am I?
Am I just so fed up
with my life that I want to change it
to anything else?
Am I fed up with masochism?
Or masculinity?
Or am I really who I am not meant to be?
But I do not know.
So I lay down and wonder.
Who am I?
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This story is 120 words long.
Comments
No - No _ No
It is not being that is painful, not existence. It is what we do that causes the pain. And -- this is the bad part -- sometimes there are no acts, no options, that will be pain free. We only get to choose the pain we will feel.
You are the person in that bed; that is so easy to see. That is not the quest really.
Seek the acts that will cause the least pain. (Not at all the same as what will give the most pleasure. It isn't about gratification.) And then be that person. Denial of self causes the most pain of all the options. Some may disapprove, but your search takes noting from them except what they throw at you and, as the quest goes on, what you have to give them grows.
At least I think so; I'm still on the quest.
Hugs and joy; Jan
Hugs