your own personal rorschach

there is this thing that i don't know what to call.
there's a sense in which it's emotion.
and there's a sense in which it's creativity.
and there's a sense in which it's spiritual.

i feel it almost every day.
and i can be talking with people i'm close to
and it starts to come out
and i'll start crying uncontrollably
without being sad.

and that's this thing,
raw.

but the harnessing of it,
something i feel i've been good at in the past,
seems to have become more difficult.

and i wonder-
is it a lack of direction?

sometimes all it takes is a song.
sometimes a story.
sometimes a memory of a word that was spoken.

i could take it as the end
of me bleeding onto paper
but i don't think that will ever end.

i could also see it
as a product of my immersion in life.
leaving behind the necessity
of internally processing everything.

i could also paint a million rainbows
and call them my self.

but why don't i be honest?
and say how i am still as much of a conflict
between seemingly opposed choices.

and still happy.
still defying what you might want to believe.
still complicating your ability to make easy distinctions.

so i fail the Revolution
and create my own.
knowing that there are so many,
if not all,
who more readily hear my words.

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