I will not doubt myself or my work or become discouraged in the mass of ideas and well-articulated phrases. Better to be here, curious, overwhelmed, wanting, than one who is convinced she's known and seen it all, or worse, a mindless apathetic clone. I will search through the madness for the word, the line, the way, and I will fight against being affected by myself or any other who looks down upon me for any naivete I may still retain.

I'm an old soul
In this young town
On a dark night
One of the last dark nights
here
I've left to see.
And although I've taken up
Plenty of space
With my distain for
The Smallness
(and I don't mean litterally)
Of this place,
I have found ways,
though few,
To suck water from
Under these streets.

Shutting the front door behind me,
I exit the familiar sleeping house
And acknowledge the bright stars
And my simple love
For the fountain that resides here
In one full beat of my heart.
She has kept me from
de-hydration
(Or worse)
Many-a-time.

And I think to myself
On these empty cool roads
And my silent humming room
I think there are mostly
two types:
Those who strive
for an image, a recognition,
an individuality
And
those who anti-strive
Who look down upon
And distance themselves
From those with a need,
Carrything their own
Unconfronted strife
all the while.

Time spent in the second category
Has added a few "years"
To my climbing count
But with clear eyes
I am left with a desire
To discard the idea of type-casting
And discover what makes
My neighbor's heart beat,
whoever he may be.

And if the pain of waiting
And the pain of hating
Had to be payed
Before I could grasp this knowledge
as my own,
I sleep easy tonight,
knowing they've been
WELL WORTH THE COST.