Comfort

There is a melancholy that settles deep 

and a hushing of the soul

as one looks to the impossibility of finding a true place. 

Comfort is a word just out of reach; 

we stretch 

and turn

and stand on our tip-toes 

and still it looms, 

just dangling above our fingertips. 

Yet there is something about that deep melancholy

that has intertwined the soul 

that makes the possibility of losing it strike fear...

we may actually take comfort in 

the uncomfortable

the sadness and the overwhelm

is it because we are really sad and really overwhelmed 

or have we talked ourselves into this mess? 

The masks that we wear now are only replacements for the masks we wore 

long before they were required, we painted them on 

with our "I'm fine" and "doing great" 

One day blends into another 

and before we know it the melancholy is an inept part of our being 

and we don't know how to shed the skin we are so uncomfortable in...