Feelings are stupid.

I hate that I need to feel loved.  It is so child like.  I thrive on evoking emotions.  Yet I choke on the notion.  I stoke them then choke them.  It’s a game I play.

There’s no end in sight.  I will play all night.  And in the morning pretend that nothing happened.  Tear stained pages in a book laugh at me when I look upon them a second time…then a third.  Just to make sure I am as absurd as I think.  And I am.

I am a joke that no one gets.  I’m a limerick that’s spoken and forgotten.  You know…like that one that goes…you know the one I’m talking about.  I can’t recall it now.  But it will come to me…eventually.  

In the middle of the night when all’s asleep and thoughts and dreams are deep I will fly.  I will soar for a minute and then steadily sink back down to earth.  Even though I try to stay in the air.  

And even though the dream is not over I am grounded.  It was a tease.  That’s me.  A glimpse of something great that will never actually make it.  But I continue to fake it and flap like mad.  Even after I wake.   

How ridiculous I must look…flapping the air.  But I don’t care if people stare.  I am their laugh for the day…or their evening cry.  That’s what I do.  

I stand here flapping.  And others are laughing and crying.  Whatever my flapping stirs.  But I do neither.  I’m tired.

My arms ache.  My heart is bruised.  I’m not amused.  I’m nothing.

Feelings are stupid.