There's something that is calling to me
Something just beyond my reach
Bigger, better, begging me to be my best
Maybe it's my writing, the blank pages that stare back at me
Or my drawing, the faded pastels stains on my old ripped up jeans
Even my stove seems to scream use me use me
Bigger, better, begging me and begging me
I feel the pull of this urgent need
I search constantly for the answer
In others words, drawings, creations and inspirations
But I know I'm looking in all the wrong places
I need to look inside myself and find who I truly am
Yet that's just the problem who the hell am I?
Am I a writer?
An artist?
A chef?
A photographer?
Am I meant to be a mother?
A wife?
Am I meant to spend my life at the will of somebody else?
Or am I supposed to struggle to find peace on my own?
I fight this need, this urge, this empty feeling in the pit of my stomach
Yet like a clock ticking in the dead of night
I hear it like a whisper
Bigger....better....Begging.

*written Sept. 14th, 2013