My mind is a storm, but
If you ask me how I'm doing...
I would probably say..
"I'm okay" ... like many threads of make-believe that I've woven into a seeing glass that I see my reality in.
The things that used to effortlessly settled in my mind, I now strive for...
I miss childhood innocence,
the peace my mind used to cuddle with and take for granted,
the beauty in naivety of how good people are
I miss how little control I had over my story...
I guess I was comfortable with someone else holding the pen, as though I'm more confident in them to write what's best for me than myself

My mind is a storm, I guess because I now write my own story
I never used to bother my mind with...
When should a new chapter in my life start? Where should I put a full stop... Should pause now, Does the sentence have too much emotions...I'm I writing my story right?...which characters should I give more screen time?...is this a sad story?  What do other writers think? Do I have an easer?  Do I know when I should start writing again?
But of late, my thoughts conjure answers from the mirrors around my life
I ponder on which version if reflection I should section keep                                                
  I tell my myself... maybe if I was a writer,                       maybe then I'd know what I'm doing wrong,
maybe I'd know what a good story looks like.

My mind is a storm, for I have spilled the ink of my thoughts over the canvas of my life, and I see not my next step.
I thought I'd distract myself with an abstract masterpiece from the noise of the colours, but my hand knows not the path to strike the fitting brush strokes.
To me, I'm a mess... perhaps other eyes see art
To me I'm a mess...but I can't say I'm done with my story.