Stuck in a rut.
Becoming accustomed to this sophomore slump.
Searching for creativity and coming up short.
I am unable to contort.
To fit the mold of the personality society expects me to be.
To restrict myself to the boundaries you’ve laid out for me.
Trapped in this modern day suburbia
With a dull canvas of street signs and strip malls.
Trying to show creativity by posting eloquent diction on bathroom stalls.
Experimenting with drugs just doin’ it for kicks
Until I kick the bucket that’ll be my ultimate fix.
Searching for something deeper in the trendy tikes that surround me.
It’s like finding a Warhol hung on the pasty wallpaper of a Motel 6, unlikely.
But they’re blinded.
These superficial tendencies are a filter over the eyes of the feeble-minded.
And when I fall into that materialistic wonderland, I stumble
I come back to reality and instantly, I’m humbled.
Uninspired, stuck in this middle class wasteland.
I’m drowning, reaching for a helping hand.
Encapsulated in a series of track homes and industrial lots,
Yearning to venture past these white picket fences;
To stray from these social pretenses.
I’m meant to be more than a big fish wading in this murky puddle.
So, I’ll swim to the depths of the ocean till I find a life style a little less subtle.
And just as I retire from this constant search,
I see a light glimmering in the distance, like fire.
Unaware of what it is but knowing that it holds everything for which I have aspired.
I’ll chase it till my whit’s end, I am inspired.