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Array
(
[sid] => 147912
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => DEFINITION NOT FOUND, It Read
[time] => 2009-02-11 12:52:16
[hometext] => Not a poem, I understand. Just decided to submit something since I haven't in a while. Thanks.
[bodytext] => I am not myself but I am not someone else, either. As cryptic as this sounds, it is as true to the feeling I harbor right now as it possibly can be. Who am I? Am I a man or just a person? What is it to be masculine? To be a man? I am emasculated daily. Faced with my inability to act and my complete helplessness I feel as a person. Every day. I feel unable to cope, the medial amount of help I receive from writing these ‘entries’ is a lost cause. As much as they make me feel able to voice how I feel, the length to which it goes to help my situation and how I feel is meaningless. Meaningless. I am the definition of that word in a physical being. I am meaningless. I have no meaning. I have no purpose. I have no use. I have useless. Without use. I am not passionate about anything nor do I excel at any one thing in particular. Average. I am average. I am one of the people who will always talk about how they always wanted their life to be different but could never find the switch, could never find the trigger. I will always be here or there but nowhere in particular, mindlessly meandering through the murky depths of what I think to be my existence. New age drivel. Crap. Even my writing, when in its most personal form, is nothing but crap. I cannot even impress myself with my writing. I do not excel at anything. I am without purpose. I am without use. I am useless. Alone. Sad, but not entirely. Feelings of inadequacy are always in my mind unable to really take a break on the back burner. Up front entirely. Center stage. I am forced to watch myself and my inability to act and to cope on a daily basis. I sit in the first row watching in awe at how pathetic it all is. How pathetic I am. Unable to act, to stop the play from landing on the last act I slam into my stereotypical ways. I am neither unique nor am I an individual. Everyone is a copy of someone else. Does everyone feel like this? I am without happiness, am I hapless? Am I hopeless? Unable to say who or what I am. Undefined. DEFINITION NOT FOUND, it read. Room full of people and I am the only one alone. Miles away in the cold I stumble to find what I try to define myself with. Adventure ongoing. Unable to find. Please return to sender. Please help me find my way home. Sad. I am full of sad. Sadful. Sadful. Sadful. I am not unique. I am not an individual. I am everything they want me to be, easy to control. Unable to control myself, easily controlled. Help me find my way home. Help me find myself. Crap. Same thing as everyone else. Neither unique nor individual. Defined as undefined. Want a way out but am unable to choose the right door. Time is quickly running out second by year I throw it out the window. Death before choice. Choose for me, the door to make it all go away. To make it all come back to me. Who I was. Who I am. What I decide will not be decided by me. Decided for me before the choice makes itself available. Available but unwanted. Come back next year. See you next time. Catch you later. I’ll get at you. Strangers in the street you might as well not know, not hear. Not think about them, think for them. Help them decide. Kind words, advice. Wisdom. I know just as much as if not less than you. [comments] => 0 [counter] => 157 [topic] => 21 [informant] => Dereku [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => Lifepoems )
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