Why can’t I find the things I’m looking for when I so desperately feel their importance in my life? Why can I not cry long enough, scream loud enough, have enough epiphanies to make a change, to make a difference? Why am I so cowardly and maniacal simultaneously? I reach for the stars, knowing I was will never touch them; yet when I close my eyes, the world is my playground. I am free and unrestricted and unrestrained and unmoved by stupidity, violence, ignorance, poverty, depression…I am free to lash out against everything that dares attack or invade the capacity of my personal space. Who am I, in real life? Am I a façade even unto myself? It may take too long to answer all these questions with an honest heart…knowing that I fear the very truths I must tell myself. I am afraid of the dark that I see inside myself, but am willing to embrace it when I need to defend my livelihood. The truth is: without even a smatter of darkness inside, I’d never know how to want light. I’d be void of any real closeness since the dark, to me, at least, seems too dark; where the light is barely peeking through the most minuscule crevice in my soul.