I never write poetry anyway
What am I doing with my life?
and I'm not looking at paths
but spheres
that can cross and weave
that's my life, breathing and living for
progress and change searching
far across the plains of my mind
making reason and emotions combine.

Do I want to go to art school?
*******
Who am I anyway?
I want it so badly but shutting a part of me feels like amputating
I was never one for pain I didn't derive pleasure from.

Pride is a silly thing