I look out the window of my bedroom
that restricts the blowing wind,

and sets the boundaries
from spreading fragments of passion and life,

the sky is an ever expansive tranquil blue
to match the blank canvas of my mind,

and the sea of green grass,
sweep in the fields of emptiness
swimming behind my eyes,

although my heart beats, it seems to have
bursts into silver flames requiring handfuls of salt
to glow fervent shades of rosy red,

and I remember that in books, characters caught up in life
find themselves in rare, warm moments
and in lost, nostalgic, and heartfelt times,

while in my world of white and black, with shades of reality
flinging around paint cans of fraud colors,
I can't seem to find myself,

because I am not allowed to wander outside
onto the cracked, bent concrete of unknown roads
that would take me to a far more different world,

one that I wouldn't have thought to exist out of my dreams,
the dreams I once let my head full of stars relish in,

because I am not allowed to lose myself
in an ocean of people whose goals in life
is to find themselves,

who despite the broken shards of glass underneath
their aching feet
and the spiteful stares received towards the vibrant colors
rebelling against pitiful shades of gray skies,

are people who remember to keep their chins up,
and will forever dance
to the steady, unfair beat of life's rhythm,

but, why do my words always weigh heavy
in my heart like pounds of silver in a world
ruled by gold,

and why do I hold up the goblet of truth
but can never seem to find the strength to sip from it
and peer inside my empty self,

why must my life be put on repeat, and I struggle to rise
from my shapeless bed that every morning holds me captive,
binding me with my handspun bundles of faithlessness
in seeing the white grayness of another day,

and why do I live on slices of self-deprivation
and insecurities
to aid me with staying in the perfect, bony shape
of one who can no longer distinguish where real beauty lies,

why do my thoughts stumble upon each other like strangers
and fail to connect themselves,
as if they were meaningful words sadly destined
to be lost in the wind,

why do they swim around on the ruins of my bravery,
only to be at the end
submerged in heavy rains of silence,

why can I never stand tall on my feet,
and kick regrets away as fast as the changing tides
while heading towards dreams that would allow me
to relinquish feeling everlasting joy and hope,

and of course of all things,

why do I always ponder quietly fading away
to pure non-existence,
as the response to the guilt I feel towards
everything I have the privilege to call mine,

when in the end, I have never even once,
been given the privilege to

call ownership of myself,
of the person who I really am.