The caveman in me lives in the light now

Outside in the open and “free”

That’s what they tell me

I’m free now, free to be

Free to follow their rules and live by their laws

Free to be a piece of their chess game

Moved around where my potential can be harnessed

Where money can be made

Where someone wins and I always lose

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The right to be

Am I real?

Do I even exist?

Life came together and I was created.

Something happened that brought me to be.

Is it fate? Cause I don’t feel free.

I feel trapped in something I wouldn’t call life.


Expectations of what I am supposed to be.

Desires formed by others foreign to myself

Ideals I wouldn’t choose if I was my own.


If I was my own civilization wouldn’t exist

Society, propriety, what does it all mean?


My soul has been taken

It’s a prisoner of war.

Kept behind bars

Deep down inside my body



How do I reclaim my beloved old spirit

How do I make it my own

Unafraid, bold, not obtrusive, gentle, and sweet.


Who am, I who are you?

Where do we stand in the passage of time?

Where are we headed?

What’s the end to this game we call living?


We hide behind masks we think set us free.

Use and abuse

Dear God I wish it wasn’t so.


We don’t understand

What is the meaning of life?

And if I wasn’t meant to ask then why is it I can think?

It is a torture

A never ending pain

A longing

Not belonging

In this world we all call home


I wish I was really home

Not here not there not anywhere

Just living and loving and being happy

Not thinking not feeling not anything

Just existing without

Without you without me without anything

Just being perhaps breathing and seeing what it means to be alive.


I don’t know anyone who has lived

Only boxes with something bouncing there inside

Wishing they were something, someone real.

I cant wrap my brain around it

The shadows on the wall

They keep dancing

Put me in a trance

I think I’ll call it destiny


Do I have the right to be

Or is it just a privilege that I’m here?

They say life is a gift

Practice gratefulness

Count your blessings

Be happy

Life is beautiful

You only live once

You are lucky to be alive


But if life is a privilege why does it feel I have been cursed

Marked with sin and desire



We are the product of our circumstances

Making the most of what we have. Doing the best we can. Looking for solutions.

Preaching, demanding what is ours. But what is ours? If even the smallest portions of ourselves are contrived.

What is truth and what is real?

Feed me that because I want to live a life that’s real.