I'm drawing inspiration from the negative,
my attention biases towards certain phrases,
they leap out to me and I thought by now they'd be the ones to represent happiness and hope;
But still internal unrest is at the forefront,
And I still feel incongurance.
Because to relate to the positive I may as well take a syringe to a dry sponge,
I draw nothing but air,
but I guess at least im drawing now and that's progress.
But there's only so many times I can ventilate the same air without questioning,
why my head magnetises certain stimuli in a world so far from bare?
I can't explain, but to use optimism, hope, love and success as my muse feels unnatural, it's strained,
l am unworthy of it.
I let my mouth take the lead,
bypass my brain so I write how I feel, it flows without me.
And maybe its a Fruedian slip in the form of a sentence,
but im scared if I slip too far i'll drown and in my sponge I will suffocate.
So I speak without thinking let my brain take the stage and im back,
back circling the same topics again,
maybe in life I repress them and this is their escape I just dont know.
Because when I write about my excitement for the future or how I dont want to leave your arms or how you personify comfort I feel obnoxious,
I feel niave
What is it about me that feels so uncomfortable,
so exposed,
so vulnerable,
to say i'm happy?