why is it that
i can only find inspiration on the cloudiest days?
what about the days where i'm too busy to think?
what about days where i don't get a moment alone?
what about days where i'm immersed in my art?
what about days where i have it all figured out?
what about days where there's so much light i can't even comprehend darkness?
i neglect my brightest days,
only to be inspired by sorrow and stagnation.

he has redefined love for me
that's why when i think of love
i can only think of him
and everyone else seems foreign

i crave surface level people,
and surface level conversations.
for once,
i'm so sick and tired of complexity.

on a daily basis
my brain reminds me,
"you'll never fit in".
sometimes i believe it.
but once in a while i realize,
i'm not a puzzle piece.
i will never be.
i wasn't born to fit in this giant puzzle.
perhaps we could all just coexist.

when things seem too good to be true
life screams, "don't get too comfortable," at me
it echoes
i'm reminded again and again
an endless loop
you can never get too comfortable.
the screams of life get quieter here and there
but they're always there
reminding you when you need to hear it,
"don't get too comfortable."

august;
your trees grew through the depths of my soul.
your green leaves filled me with hope of new beginnings.
your bodies of water flowed through my veins.
your paths led me to new friends and long conversations.

january;
your abundance is barren.
your trees look foreign and eerie.
your leaves are stripped of color.
your bodies of water are concealed by your icy mask.
your paths are winding with no direction.
ghosts with unfamiliar faces haunt me.

regular routines remain,
trapped in a tenacious loop.
i despise this daunting shovel.
a begrimed bottom i can’t seem to reach.
pain pressures me into prayers,
bystanders beg for me to stop.
when can i be done digging?

everyone around me
seems to fall in love
at the drop of a hat
why
can't i see the magic in people?