May 2020
I have a drawing on my wall. Some faceless figures with lines showing the different ways they’re making their lives all the more miserable.
One figure overthinks, its thoughts scrambled in the surrounding air.
Another compares, each thought taking sweet time to indulge in the previous happenings, looking for faults and reasons to give up.
A third figure is caught in a haze of what could be, all the what if’s.
This fourth figure is sometimes confusing. The figure is projecting. Projecting doubts, fears, cries, or thoughts, hopes, prayers?
the final figure longs, hopes for the future and the changes it will bring. This figure is the weakest of them all, not taking the present for what it is, and wishing desperately for escape.
I’ve been all of these figures, black lines on a blank piece of paper waiting for some color and a face, a chance at accepting the world for what it is.
One figure overthinks, its thoughts scrambled in the surrounding air.
Another compares, each thought taking sweet time to indulge in the previous happenings, looking for faults and reasons to give up.
A third figure is caught in a haze of what could be, all the what if’s.
This fourth figure is sometimes confusing. The figure is projecting. Projecting doubts, fears, cries, or thoughts, hopes, prayers?
the final figure longs, hopes for the future and the changes it will bring. This figure is the weakest of them all, not taking the present for what it is, and wishing desperately for escape.
I’ve been all of these figures, black lines on a blank piece of paper waiting for some color and a face, a chance at accepting the world for what it is.
