Unconsciously

I wrote this poem 7/4/00, 3 weeks later I met Benito.  Life is funny.

I am desperately seeking.  At times I'm positive it's ineffable.  Substitutions are titled boyfriends, then exes, then bitter memories and anger, frustration, the lack of an adequate vocabulary.  I look elsewhere, for things less tangible and flawed, a concept, an emotional destination similar to inner-peace.  At times I think I'm crazy or depressed and cringe because the act of allowing the notion to run rampant in my thought process makes me sane.  I desperately seek a loophole.  Instant mental health.  Void of this torturous, pathetic, self-evaluation.  I'm devoured by confusion and fatigue.  I need options.  Constantly.  I'm lackadaisical, dare I say indifferent, overly sentimental and easily influenced.  Weak yet stubborn, free and savagely limited.  I'm ordinary AMPLIFIED, chaos condensed, packed in this shell pretentious people judge recklessly.  I'm a hopeless romantic, who can effortlessly distance myself from human affection.  I probably won't call you when I'm supposed to.  I'll stare at the caller I.D. in suffocating disappointment, you irritate me, don't love me, hate me or submerge yourself in your own existence.  Don't embrace me, not until I've found what I'm seeking.    - Pascalle Arnold