Express Me

Oh boy,
Here it goes.
That simmering, sitting, nothingness state,
The sit and wait state
Nothing is coming.  Look both ways…Nope.
All I am is a monolith, if my skin were made of stone.
I am the only one inside my head.  There’s no one to pull me out.
I wish I was free to express...
Free to express what?
I want to express…me.
No I need it.  Only a few things I need and that is on top.
The pain comes from the inability to express…me.
I live me, walk me, talk me, but cannot get you to understand.
Who will listen?  Who will listen even when I don’t talk?
It can’t be like that—someone reading what I am unconsciously saying.
Wish it was.  Wish I was able to form…
A sentence, a paragraph, page.  A book is too much energy.
I am afraid to expend energy, it flows through my being
My brain hums because of it, but I never let it out.
I want some real part of me to show.
As opposed to a fake part?  What is real and fake?
Whats fake is what’s not real?  Yeah, but which parts of my essence are which?
The real is physical, and probably mental.
Do I present a fake personality?
What lacks reality, makes something fake, and I do not show the depths of my reality.
Why not?  Why not?….cant ask that question much longer without an answer.