Endeavors

No better.

As my eyes scan the room only one question forms within me.

Where am I.

Where do I belong.

Maybe it's with the drunken dancers.

Or the ones who can't stop making music requests.

Maybe I'm the caterer. Providing everyone else comfort instead of my own.

Where do I belong in this room filled with smoke, lights, and the secret liquid that makes all your problems fade away?

Where.

Where do I belong with these sweaty, tired bodies?

Maybe I'm just made to stay in the corner analyzing everything around me.

To notice the arguing couples, the drinks about to spill, and the fights that are about to arise.

Yeah. That's me. And I don't mind being here.

I don't mind analyzing. Its nice.

Im at least one step ahead.

Yeah. That's it. One step ahead.

I don't need to drown myself in that special liquid when the problems around me do that enough. They are my distraction.

So I may sit here and think I'm better than them, but I'm not.

I also find an outlet, just a quieter one.

And one that wouldn't exist if it weren't for them.

So, thanks I guess.