Where do I fit in?

I wish I fit in like a dog at the dog park but I am becoming more and more aware that I just don't.

I went for pie and coffee with a group of friends from my church and as I sat in my seat, although I didn't despise my time there, I began to realize how much I don't fit in with their group.

I was there and listening and adding in comments here and there.

But, the more I listened, the more I heard whispers shared between certain people and comments referring to some previous joke that I knew nothing of and there was even an incident that everyone referred to and was told/knew about.

That is, except for me.

I've known these people since I was 16.

But, I guess that doesn't mean I know them.

There were a couple of faces there whom I trust and do know me.

But, for the majority, we're just not on the same page.

They don't feel like sharing things with me.

I don't feel comfortable sharing things with them about me.

I don't like to be laughed at.

And sometimes I like to think that we're all friends and we can all have open conversations over a cup of coffee and a slice of pie but the more I reflect upon things, I think that perhaps it won't ever be that way.

I feel like I have nothing to contribute to their conversations that will seem of importance.

And I don't want to feel like that.

So, I don't suppose I fit in.

I'll sit there and be there, but I know I'm not truly there.

I don't know how to change that.

All I can say is; where do I fit in?

'Cause I'm having a hard time finding that out.

We wore the same sweaters and it felt snug

There's not a better feeling that finding out someone has felt the same way you feel.

That moment when your loneliness fades away like the sun melting into the nighttime sky.

When your problems suddenly seem to fall like the dead leaves now upon the ground.

Because, that's all you wanted.

Someone to be beside you.

Someone to relate to.

Someone who understands you.

Someone to feel how you feel.

Anxiety

A chokehold,

A 100 pound weight on my chest,

A sudden waterfall pressing on my eyes begging to drip down,

A creeping sensation crawling up and down my spine,

A whisper who has a deafening shout that only I can hear,

A prison.

Why are you there?

No one invited you.

And yet you walk around the room so confident like you own me.

You don't.

My savior Jesus Christ has set me free from you.

So, stop acting like you are a welcomed guest inside of me.

You're not welcomed.

I don't believe your lies.

So, the question remains...

Why are you here?

Bloom, bloom, bloom.

"All I wanted was a reassuring handshake and smile", she said.

But alas, there were no hands to shake and no smiles to give.

For the life she lived was a life of solitude and that is a life spent with a grave face and a dying heart.

It needed to be watered and it needed to bloom but it was left in a room without sunlight and that kept her heart from growing.

Maybe a heart can survive for a day or two without light, but it cannot live forever in darkness and it certainly cannot thrive.

So, dying heart and shaded sunflower, step into the light and shake the hands reaching out to you so ready to embrace and to hold you close with a million of smiles rooted and growing in an everlasting ray of joy.

Bloom.

Bloom.

Bloom.

Why do I write?

"Why do I write?", I ask myself.

I write because the monsters seem to run away when I do.

I write because the words are a bandage when my heart bleeds.

I write because the colors mix together like skittles instead of fading away like they do when I don't acknowledge that they are there.

I write because I don't feel invisible when I do.

I write because I might (might) just connect with someone else when the words on this page are read.

I write because writing can change the world and it can change me.

It has changed me.

For better or for worse;

I write.

Do you?

Why do you?

Even if it hurts

You don't know what you do,
but what you do breaks my heart everyday.

And I want you here everyday but I want you to love us and you don't.
And I don't want you here hurting us deeper and deeper,
So there's no answer.
I just want you to feel how we feel about you and I'm not sure that will ever be true.
So, I pray and pray and pray and wait and hope.

But hope- it can hurt.

Yet, I will continue until something changes.

I just don't want you to hurt us anymore.
And I want you to feel love because I'm not sure if you have loved before or are capable of it.
But you're apart of us whether you like it or not.
And we love you,
whether you like it or not.

So you break our hearts everyday because we love you.
And we can't stop doing that.
We won't stop doing that.

So, I pray and I wait and I hope.

And I will continue to do so until something changes.
Even if it hurts.

" breathing dreams like air " -- F.Scott Fitzgerald

Sometimes I wonder if dreams actually are made of paper because they sure seem to crumble pretty easily.

Yet, I still dare to dream anyways...

Yes, a dreamer I will always be.

A dreamer is rooted deep inside of me.

But sometimes I beg it;

please,

Set it all free.

Let the paper airplane dreams loose,

set it free.