I see maps
And roadways
In everything.
In the scars
And all the marks
Upon my skin.
In the veins on my arms,
In the lines on my palms,
And in my eyes
When I stare into a mirror.
But these paths,
Where do they all lead?
Where is it  
I am meant to go?
Where is it
I am meant to be?

My entire life,
I have been waiting.
For years,
Almost two decades now
I have been waiting.
Waiting,
For the better parts.
Waiting,
For the “soon”.
Waiting,
For my life to begin.
Because,
I don’t feel like I have lived.
In the nearly twenty years
I have been alive
And breathing
I do not feel
In any of those years
That I have been alive.
I don’t feel like a single breath
That I have taken
Has been real.
I feel as if
All these years
I’ve been stuck
Behind a window
Watching as my life unfolds
Before me.
I feel that
I have had
Zero control.
That I am in the backseat
Letting someone else drive.
That someone else,
Is writing on the pages
Of MY life.
But no more.
I will break that window,
I will take that wheel,
And I will write
My own pages.
My life has begun,
And now -
I’m in control.

Babble babble ... don't understand.
Sentences don't make sense.
Confusion ... what did he say?
Conversation feels so intense.

My young friend
has trouble with mind,
Trouble with words to find.
Talks in circles, in steady streams.

Constant jumbled thoughts.
Words tumbling out of mouth.
No pause in between.
No conversation, just listen.