Wednesday, January 4, 2017

Call it what you will

I am not cold
There is a heart, beating in this chest
Blood
Coursing
Unstoppable
Necessary

I won't apologize for your opinion of me
I refuse to feel belittled based on your
     incorrect assumption of the character of my personality

You have no right to assume that you know what I am
     thinking
Simply looking at my face and body language cannot
     communicate to you my innermost thoughts and feelings
     on whatever topic is being discussed

You don't know me
I am not heartless, and I am not sorry

And yet
I am

I do feel that I should...feel more
I can sense the empathy people ooze through their faces
     and their posture as they physically communicate
     their emotions

A skill which is foreign to me
One which I do not recognize

What is this language they express through eyes
     bursting like a dam and lips quivering with the
     promise of storm and strain?

I wish I knew
I wish I could understand
I crave the power that emotion can possess

I can cause these emotions
I can stir a person's heart strings into stew after plucking,
     sometimes tenderly and sometimes ferociously from their
     comfortable, protected home
But that would be intentional, not natural

Control of others is not enough
Power over others means nothing if the powerful
     cannot control themselves
In that instance, chaos is all the more powerful

To me, emotion can often appear as the
     elephant in the room
The topic which I do not desire to touch or even
     acknowledge

I simply direct my eyes elsewhere, hoping, praying
     that the circus from which the elephant came will
     pass through without leaving so much as a kernel of
     popcorn on the ground

Some purposely seek out this circus and even enjoy it

I am of the opposite opinion, although learning to tolerate it
     would seem beneficial
Then perhaps I will gain common ground with others

I will see what they see
I will connect with their tender side

Instead of controlling their heart strings, I will
     loosen the white-fisted grip I appear to have on my own

But letting go is vulnerability at its finest

What I must first explore is whether or not I can push myself
     to face it

I am not cold
There is a heart, there is blood
The next step
     is to share it