Just a feeling of not having
Not having happiness, not having contentment
Of not belonging….to anything or anyone
Of not being a part of…and of being excluded
A feeling of being lonely in a crowd
And not being part of that crowd
Of being on the outside looking in
A spectator not a participant
A reporter of life and not living
Just pushing back the four walls
And finding more of the same
And the final acceptance that this is all there is
Was, and is going to be.
That feeling of being on the outside
As though you are all on the inside feeling
The glow and warmth of the fire of companionship
And I am tapping on the window
Wiping off my breath with a tattered glove
And huddling into my scarf knowing
That you do not hear the rapping
Even if you wanted to
And in this winterland are two ghosts of choices
Each guarding a path
One of which must be chosen
I can break the window letting out some of that warmth
Or I can walk away leaving that window light of warmth
Behind me
Hoping someone will look out and call me back
And knowing they probably will not.
