Solitary

It's a feeling of contentment. I sit with thoughts and calmness and coffee. The silence roars as the words pour through my soul into my work. It's a way to find that lost piece of my self, the one that is stolen and trampled daily. It's my peaceful time. I walk with the breeze and the whispers of promise. I plan and list my life, both now, and after. I cry. For the lost words, the lost time, the lost me. But that's alright. I'll stand tall and brave. I soldier on through regimental tasks you have set for me, though they dampen my creative, free spirit. I will fly when you're not here. I soar above the horizon looking down at the beauty of life. My life. I dream my future, and ink the present. You say insecure, introvert, social awkwardness. I remain silent, lost in the world of my own creation. I talk to whom I want, I go where I want, and I sing my words by pen to the world. It's just I can't abide you. And I learned to love my own counsel and companionship. My friends understand. My world is colored differently and the brightness overtakes me. I turn my face to the warm sun and breathe. Mindful, inspired. I believe in me.