Contentment

Contentment is for people who are satisfied to stop thinking.

To turn off all those parts of your head

That constantly generate questions

And continuously probe the accepted.

To hush the cells jumping up and down

To show you a new way to approach a topic,

Begging you to acknowledge the incredible plans

That could be birthed from the impossible way

You see the ordinary.

But I have an obligation to my mind.

Yes, sometimes it feels more like shackles than duty,

And yes, sometimes I want to abandon my notepad and paper

On the bedside table to have a "me day"-

Whatever that's supposed to mean -

Or halt the carousel of whirling thoughts for a nap,

But I can't.

I will always be curious, at my roots.

I grow from the dedication to my thoughts, upward.

A tree straining towards the light of innovation.

Why would I forsake the places my thoughts can take me,

Or the adventures my pen can take in translating them.

For the gifts this head gives me,

I must always be on call, on edge, on fire.

Contentment: unattainable.

Even if it weren't it would interfere with the very process

That would allow me to derive what meaning lies in contentment.

So that's my secret.

The Hulk was always angry, which is how he controlled and dominated.

I'm always searching, which is how I find and thrive.

I can't drown out my thoughts just to soak up the sun.

That's not contentment: that's complacency.

And complacency is not in my vocabulary.

How funny-

I am content with losing that one word 

For the chance to be brilliant.