The sun is yellow ( A poemish story about perspective )

The sun is yellow,

The grass is green,

Your lips are purple,

Your eyes hazel brown.

The birds caw and squeak,

The cats meow, the dogs bark,

The children a cacophony,

And the mice in hidden places, hidden sounds.

The air smells of dust,

Of yesterdays old socks,

It smells of the tiniest hint of morning breakfast; citrus

Of wooden shelves and metal doorknobs.

I see the park outside,

I see the room around me,

I see the daydreams in my head,

and the places within.

I taste the fruit in the morning,

After a local diners specialty,

Then I taste the emptiness on my tongue,

and I taste the desires building up upon empty buds.

I feel the joy of an r-slured child,

I feel the sorrow of half a man,

I feel the anger a dying embers worth,

And peace fought for every moment through the noise.

I touch the keys,

I touch the clothes,

I touch my hair,

and my shoes a pair.

I write in my notebooks,

I draw in them too,

I type up an hours worth,

and then study another hour through.

I grow a little every day.

Bit by bit I leave behind the pain.

I grab on to all the pieces of life I can.

I persist and adapt, as is the only thing left to do.

There is so much I am missing out,

You can see it in my words, I see it in my ways,

But as far as I can tell, it matter not,

to be a little more every day is enough.

I know myself wrong to those with better lives,

and right to those with worse,

I know myself as something strange,

That still wants to make a better world.

I try to find myself,

and know myself,

Not to accept myself ( That too though),

But to outgrow myself.

I have read Neitzsche,

I have read Jung,

I have read the stoics words,

and those of Absurd cool dudes ( Camus ).

Now I count the hours,

and I track the time,

I track the work I put in,

and focus on improvements to flow through me and mine.

Is that enough,

I know not,

All I know,

Is that it is more than what was yesterday.

Is that enough,

Of course not,

We don't fight for enough this far down,

We fight for a chance at enough.

I deny the good dreams,

For the same reason I deny the bad,

So that I can live a life,

The one that's right in front of me.

To make the best of this reality,

and no other one,

To make something of myself,

Where my mind and heart and gut tells me things truly matter.

Is that enough?

It will never be enough.

But it will be more than yesterday,

and it will be enough to do something purposeful with.

So perhaps it isn't enough to get exactly everything,

But it's enough to make something,

and isn't that what life's all about,

A step forward, step by step, forever, into infinity.