amidst this blur
of sincerity and jest,
resultant of strangers
each doing their best
to compress the pertinent
details and such
- might I amount
to much?
to very much?
I rarely compose poetry. I rarely write. I should write more; I'm gifted in the art, and I enjoy little else more. I backspaced over the beginning of this sentence because it began with "What am I to say," and that seemed too cliche a question to allow myself to ask here. What medium is there that could convey any significant portion of what I am? Face it, self, there is yet to exist a language which will "sufficiently convey" what I am, as I don't run out of me to convey - so I'll plan to stop some time soon rather than ramble on indefinitely.
I am aware of a fountain of love inside of me, one that I share equally with everything and every thing. I am not looking here solely for someone with whom to be "in love;" I seek beautiful people I might befriend. You are welcome to whatever you garner from your interaction with me; I promise only this: I am honest, sincere, and forthright, and will remain so; I may be the most open person you've ever met.
Would you answer "yes" to any of the following questions?
Are you lonely in a manner that neither sex nor friendship comfort?
Do you detest the linear and pre-determined nature of "relationships" of whatever sort?
Do you seek interaction outside of the confinement of propriety and normalcy?
Do you feel as if you are too vast to be encompassed by the understanding of another?
Would you believe that I am usually perceived as a "normal" guy? I don't even endeavor to camouflage myself. What is this place?
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