my room looks like an old beaten up storm victim
with walls made up of mended old pieces of wood
and a light coming outside my room
with my headphones on
i fantasize a bright future filled with hope and freedom
one where i can create intricate pieces of my soul
but i don’t want to be stuck in this same place of desolate dreams
is the reason for this numbness to life and disconnection to my past and who i am
is because i dream of being eaten up by the worldly pleasures of glitz and glamour
am i not starving enough
to be called a starving artist fueled with this brimming passion and discontentment and art
am i not starved of love and happiness and zest that i became this unfeeling cold robot disconnected from everything
but i am poor, i am starving
why don’t i feel anything
am i just like my room
an old beaten up victim
made up of mended broken pieces without any light from within?
I wrote this one on a whim because I feel uninspired and insecure about my creativity (if I ever have one) and I’m not even sure if this is good or anything but I want to take a dive and put this out there. Side note: I am a victim of abuse from my birth parents. Still stuck here with them but slowly making steps towards getting out of here.