I don’t know that a person can describe

a dull day

people want to read about;

an old woman

lost in a grocery store

white hair

black pants

hanging onto her grocery cart

like she might fall

for weariness

or the talented people

who choose mediocre jobs

hanging onto hope

like a dusty dress shirt

neglected, in a black closet,

out of style for five years.

Even the ones who break out, don’t seem to break free

they can’t forget where they came from

and they are the sort who are terrified of their origins

like the cow that doesn’t want to admit it was once a whale

they all succumb to the dark hole

the ones who scrabble out of it

can’t look at the blue sky

because they are worried about falling in again.

I’ve been told that I’m a great lover of myself

and not in a good way

I feel the misunderstanding is justified

I’m the only one who can change

and I’ve been trying for sometime

like an artist sculpting their own clay

or a philosopher trying to discover their own wisdom

I don’t fit the mold

so maybe that’s saying something

but I’m still not the man who can look at the blue sky

and avoid staring into the abyss.

That doesn’t mean I’m not looking for someone who can

I just haven’t found them yet

and like great paintings that cost lots of money and hang in exclusive museums

the odds of finding that

in my neighborhood grocery store

are quite low

and perhaps,

the odds of finding that inside myself are even lower

but it’s like playing the lottery…

you can bet on a ticket

or you can bet on yourself

and I find

betting on myself

to be more satisfying.