I feel myself struggling.
Too much wall
not enough paint.
Trying to roll out enough of me
for everyone.
Crammed in between all the things I live for.
I'm gonna miss this
but I'm not gonna stop wanting that.
My roots are planted.
They won't budge.
My branches reach.
They tug and pull.
These feelings have made a tugging war of my soul.
If home is where the heart is,
why does mine love to venture?
It floats away and strays in the wind.
The little girl in me says stay
where you were raised.
The me i know best
says run.
Truth be told
this growing thing
is getting old.