Exiled.

Broken. In the wilderness. Exiled. In the desert. Surrounded perhaps only by heat. And desperation. And perspiration. And nothing else.

Grasping onto nothing. Crying out for help. No one answers except for the sun that keeps on shining. No wind. No rain. No one that was there before is there now. It’s just me. Alone. And I cry out not to be alone anymore.

Broken. In a crowd. Exiled. In the biggest city. Surrounded perhaps by the largest skyscrapers. And strongest metals. And toughest people. And everything else.

Grasping onto nothing. Crying out for help. No one answers except for the sun that keeps on shining. Lots of wind. Lots of rain. Everyone that was there before is there now, but none of them answer. None of  them can help him now. And the man in the city cries out to be me in the desert.

We are both completely broken. In the same way. We blame our circumstances and cry out for something deeper. Something more. Something that reaches back towards us, not moving farther and farther away from us.

But we cannot find it. In our soul there is a fault. We call it normal, you may call it a defect. But we fight to keep it everyday. I pray to rid of it while practicing to make it better. He just lives with it, knowing it does not satisfy. And why are we are okay with this? We aren’t. But  we know no other way.

We are broken. Into so many finely broken pieces that we swear we are barely recognizable anymore. Much less able to be put back together again. So we have no hope. And we are. But we aren’t. We are breathing, but we are not living. We are broken.

Burn, Burn, Burn.

Inside I'm crying out

While my head is flooded with doubt

And though I sound silent,

My heart is clearly violent.

I'm sighing in need of a cure

Don't know how much longer I can endure.

I'll keep on fighting

And in my pain, writing.

Then my soul will speak

Aspiring to disguise the weak.

Thirsting for more than I've got,

I remember that I was bought.

Perhaps this is only hope

That allows me to be able to cope.

But still, I hold onto this tight.

Inside, I feel something ignite.

I'll search it out until I learn

that life is this burn, burn, burn.

Living in the Now.

At what point in my life will I become less of a reader and more of a writer? I've spent 23 years (and counting) reading about my life, about who i am. Each day I spend searching myself as well as the world around me. I've been looking for the way to make my life and to create who I want to be. I am constantly preparing myself for what is to come. Getting ready for who I am about to be.

I am a husband, a father. I have a steady job in a stable company making more than substantial income. The people I work with are great, and they really get me. My wife is beautiful on the inside and out. And my kids. I could play for hours outside teaching my sons how to hit a baseball or cast a fishing rod.  

Although this is not who I really am, this is who i am in my eyes. I am by no one's point of view to that stage in my life yet. I am single. Very single. I have no children. I have a low man on the totem-pole job in an unstable economy with a barely there income. I am in a big sense, living beyond my means. (And I don't mean that I am spending more money than I make.) What I mean is this: I am living beyond my stage of life.

I've forgotten what it means to live young. To live in the moment and not to worry. I've planned for far too long, hoping, wishing, praying that I would be someone who I'm not right now. I want so bad to be someone in the future that I stop being who I am right now.

There's a disconnect between me and Me and what each of me wants. I only want to date girls that seemingly have it all together, that put God first. And then, I am somehow surprised, when I'm not what they are looking for. I am imperfect, I put myself first. I have lots of flaws. I have made my mistakes, and I hold onto them rather than calling them regrets. I am me, and I'm okay with it. It's just that I'm not okay with dating girls that are like me. 

Do you see where I am going with this? I end up spending most of my life time as a spectator. A reader of my life book, if you will. Of this love story I envisioned has been written for me. But I'm sick of reading. I'm ready to write. I don't care anymore if it's a love story or a sad story. A mystery or a thriller. Or even a comedy. I don't care. I'm just ready to write my story. To let others know who I really am.