why do i feel so lost
when there is so much around me
yet so many people make me feel so small
as if i was an ant in the city.

my hobby is writing,
and yet you tell me:
you can't speak metaphorically.

i want to fall into the waves nearby,
wash up on shore with the words spoke
etched into my skin.

if i cant write,
according to you,
then why am i alive?