There have been so many moments
that I have missed.
Completely escaping from my pen.
Writing feels almost foreign to me,
It’s been so long.
I feel ill-equipped, unprepared,
Not qualified in the slightest.
The thoughts that are buzzing around my brain
Refuse to transplant themselves
Onto the paper in front of me
They reject and avoid these
New environments.
I don’t know. I suppose
I sympathize for them, they’re afraid
Scared little thoughts, terrified of judgement
Aren’t I not the same?
Existing is a scary concept for all of us
I’m sure
But I think the best of us learn to hide, to confuse
The clock begins to tick down
My eyes are getting
Worse by the minute
I can feel it, I can live it.
And it’s getting
infinitely harder to breathe
To the point where I visit
The doctor for help.
Once again,
There’s too much time
I conclude
Too many possibilities
It all sounds terrible. What am I supposed to do.
Unruly and untamed I stroll through my exhibition
My disappointments, my unlived-in potential
Of unspoken thoughts, of uncommunicable feelings
They seem to be enjoying themselves
Enjoying the company, enjoying the rest
I suppose I would to.
It’s difficult to choose one to expose,
One to leave out
For the sun to eventually dry out
One to abandon forever.
I don’t know how to say goodbye.
I’ve never been good with farewell.
Not quite sure what I’m doing here
Brain where have you been.
I yell out to nowhere in particular.
What’s going on.
Please answer soon,
Because the clock is ticking down
And I remember a time where
Writing used to be my salvation,
But now writing seems to have
become nothing more than the source of
my everlasting frustration.
I hope things shift soon,
I hate being so far out of the loop,
Being so far from who I used
To be, the person I believed was me.
Maybe things will change, they have to.