Frustrations of the Interface

It was constantly remarked upon

how I was such a perceptive child,

preternaturally so.

I could discern the feelings of the person in front of me

and find a way to fill the need.

To a certain degree I am still the same today.

But in a far more restricted sense.

As beautiful as that quality can be,

especially as seen by those who benefit by it,

it can also comminute your self soul.

Slowly strangling,

silently siphoning,

capacity poured out at the feet of all and any.

Left with nothing,

understimulated and overwhelmed,

my brain body eventually decided enough was enough.

This system sucks.

Anger is a boundary transgressed.

When you didn't even know there should be a boundary there

then the anger can be monumental.

Which must, of course, mean that I am a bad person!

Anger is not a civilized,

sterilized,

authorized

emotion.

I used to love and have such compassion,

now people make me impossibly angry and sick to my stomach,

not understanding my self’s response to overmuch.

A perfected interface does not mean you are ok,

that you are able to do it indefinitely,

or have that much to give.

Because you know that it's the right thing to do and

one must always do the right thing -

says the interface to the self.