Why Jason writes...

It’s silly really to write down

The stuff inside my head,

One second I’m on top of it

The next I’m all but dead.

 

I want to keep it to myself

And yet I want to share,

To lock it up and toss the key

Pretend it isn’t there.

 

Most don’t mind to hear the stuff

That makes them feel at home,

But any time I vent the junk

I’m swiftly left alone.

 

The looks I get, the puzzled words,

Or no response at all,

Leaves my heart to question why

so few will catch my fall.

 

It’s like they want me to be real

As long as real means nice,

But when I show the darker side

It’s like I’m rolling dice.

 

The crapshoot of my honesty

Will either draw or kill,

What makes the one uncomfortable

Makes the other thrilled.

 

I look about for someone else

That has the heart to write,

The things that hide inside the day,

yet surface in the night.

 

I wonder if another soul

Is spending time tonight,

Penning random wonderings

Beside the candlelight.

 

I find more peace in nights like this

Than almost any other,

Wrestling to stay alive

Instead of under cover.

 

“Make up your mind, you stupid boy!”

This phrase keeps bugging me,

I’m thirty-four, for goodness sake

What could my problem be?

 

But here’s the thing that most don’t get

About the life I live,

The time it takes to bind my heart

Is time I gladly give.

 

I love to sit and let my soul

Come up for air and breathe,

Telling me what matters most

That’s buried underneath.

 

The questions that emerge from it

Have never led to death,

Even if they make me gasp,

They always give me breath.

 

They don’t depress my heart a bit

In fact, they resurrect

Desires that are going numb

When cause has no effect.

 

There seems to be a lot at stake

As it relates to living.

The days are short to change a life

And time is not forgiving.

 

Tomorrow is another day

But that’s no guarantee

That I will purpose to redeem

The life in front of me.

 

That is why I have to think

About these things tonight,

For I must greet the dawn prepared

To brandish sword and fight.

 

I can’t expect to just show up

And let my instincts guide,

They have a way of leaving me

And running off to hide.

 

Passion today is nothing more

Than yesterdays resolve,

A choice that’s made in secrecy

That in the night evolves.

 

Growing thick within the breast

And setting it ablaze,

Burning up the apathy

And clearing up the haze.

 

Even if the thoughts I share

Make me look absurd,

They keep me from becoming one

Who’s seen and never heard.

 

Seen as one who rarely aches

With feelings of confusion,

Looked upon as something great

Becoming an illusion.

 

But that is just the thing I am

Afraid I will become,

A figment of the carnal mind,

A fabricated bum.

 

A fantasy that just pretends

To fill a public need,

Never letting people see

The things that make me bleed.

 

Illusions satisfy at first

But over time they die,

That always happens when we trade

Authentic for a lie.

 

So even if at times I make

A person double take,

I’d rather have them see the truth,

Than get to know a fake.

 

Above all else, I’ll guard my heart

Even if I find

This wellspring of my very life

Makes me lose my mind.