I wish I were as strong as a corn kernel.
Roasted, beaten, chewed alive!
yet still,
at the end of the day,
you’ll find me whole.

in your sh*t

Untouched

It was boredom
that led me here
to write all this.

It was boredom
that sparked a storm in my head,
a quiet brainstorm
with no one but myself.

I wish I had found this kind of boredom sooner.
Maybe seventeen years sooner.
Because hell,
this "borestorm"
might’ve carried me somewhere
worth reaching.

I used to know how to draw.
When your mind is free,
creativity flows like water.

Imagination ran wild,
translating through my hand
to sketch what my mind saw.

No school taught me how to draw.
I just drew!
from imagination.

Imagination is precious.
It’s your brain
running a kind of creative program.

Now my brain only responds with solutions
because trouble,
trouble always comes first.

Suddenly,
I don’t know how to draw.
Because my mind
is focused on solving problems.

A perk? A burden?
Of being an adult
in an adult’s world.

But is this writing
a sign my creative program still runs?
Or just a way
to cope with crowded thoughts?