I live each day with one breath that I give to a higher power. I never know of their identity, I know they are there. Regardless of name or history, they remain a presence in my life. As my next breaths come, I reach solitude. A guitar at my side and an ink pen in my right hand is my notorious duo. I scribble in messy cursive, letters to people they will never receive, words that only I understand. I question myself and everything around me, and my eyes meet my reflection at least 5 times a day.
I am caught in my brain and I hope for less pills to swallow. Sometimes smoke gets in my eyes. I feel full, yet empty, and both in a good way. I hope for love in any sense, not just romantic. My past used to define me, and as of now, I let go. There isn't much about me, only what I make of me.
April is Poetry Month, and I am partaking in the "Poem a Day" challenge. April 2nd is "About Me"