Maybe I am just a nomad, a mere wanderer with no home, always walking, running-away from my reality, and the reality is that I am a nomad, a lone wolf that forms a part of many packs, but would rather wonder alone, onwards, to a path unknown, to a new pack, that I will soon leave to begin again.

I am not enjoying, my youth
It seems, I crave to age
I experience, not, nor know not of
The joys that come with my, youthful freedom
And yet, I think, there is one thing, to tell
To join me in mutual bond, with others of my years
A wanderlust, so born of youth, uncertainty, and, curiosity
Oh, how I would wander, but not, oddly enough, to see the world, not to take photos
For Facebook and likes
But because I need to keep moving
I don't care where I'm going
Just as long as it's new
And there's no one to drag me back home
I want a weekend of coffee, poetry with strangers, who know only my, work, not my name
I want a sojourn to Bohemia, to get lost among artists, how sublime, would be, a world apart from, this
Drunk, for a weekend, hyper, sleepless, as long as my pen fills a page
I have a need to wander
And I'll never grow fonder
Of this small, dying town of the grey
I'll write my work, and count the hours
Till I'm finally out of this place
Cos, my soul needs to wander
I don't need roads, no signs, I don't care where I'm going
If it's, a, change of scene, well then
There's never been, a more beautiful sight for my, eyes
Oh, the farther I wander, the more my heart grows fonder
Of a world that I've never, truly known

I’m a healer; not a feeler,
a traveler with loss of passion.
Pipe dreams are clear when day is gone,
then I spawn stories you can’t imagine.

I’m a wanderer; but I am not lost,
burn the human manufactures.
The sky is bleeding poor man’s gold,
drowning lunatic dream-catchers.

I’m a winter child; but my heart is fire,
it's a roaring black hole of ancient lullabies.
Follow the zebra through the midnight woods,
I saw glimpse of amnesia in its eyes.

Her life is a constant wonder
with soul incessantly wandering
the blues of the deepest voids,
oblivious of the turquoise-blue
it could've found in the shallow of the sea.

She has a mind that seems recondite,
abysmal and profound
she still searches for the meaning of each word
for, to her, it doesn't seem much wrong
maybe the reason she is not understood by many
is because she is not trying to be.

Life can be hard to decipher sometimes
one won't be certain of living
with the absence of existence
yet the other one is certain of existing
even without living.