I think that I am simple, though I know it is not true. At times, which are most random, I turn away from you. I don’t know why I do this, and pull back in my shell, but times it seems this is a living hell. I know this is not true, and that statement is not fair, since this revelation, since this trip to where I dare. You are concerned, the misery waves over, you stand so strong, you keep your composure. I meant not to burden you with all of this worry, just allow me to be locked inside of my head, the enclosure. I may be a part of your world so small, though to others I seem to be nothing at all. I am who I am, and I am me. I am everything that I want to be. I resist your pressures, you world out there, what you think of me, I do not care. I look at your actions, never judge. Judging is the way to lose yourself, the one you already don’t know, yourself. I have searched and searched, no I shall not find the one who is interfering and changing my mind. I do not have all mapped and figured, there are too many things that I wish I knew, no worries I will not try to come across as one who knows more than I do. I think inward, with, around and around, again and again, the memories and ideas that I can’t lay down. So many, I know, can’t reach them all, but I can pick and choose to make sense of the small. I often forget, but not what you would guess, for this my life and my mind of progress. I try to reach the end, the end, the goal, and little does that happen without seeing a soul. A soul to help or a soul to see, we try to get along, yes, we, you and me. We run and we run all through this time, all through this map of learning and rhyme. Sometime the scheme gets lost and jumbled, but fear not for the lines to come will leave us humbled.
The Kid with The Black Balloon 