I live each day with one breath that I give to a higher power.
I never know of their identity, I know they are there.
Regardless of name or history, they remain a presence in my life.
As my next breaths come, I reach solitude.
A guitar at my side and an ink pen in my right hand is my notorious duo.
I scribble in messy cursive, letters to people they will never receive,
words that only I understand.
I question myself and everything around me,
and my eyes meet my reflection at least 5 times a day.
I am caught in my brain and I hope for less pills to swallow.
Sometimes smoke gets in my eyes.
I feel full, yet empty, and both in a good way.
I hope for love in any sense, not just romantic.
My past used to define me, and as of now, I let go.
There isn't much about me, only what I make of me.
April is Poetry Month, and I am partaking in the "Poem a Day" challenge. April 2nd is "About Me"