I feel very lost, and also quite found.
In the air,
At t w e n t y – s e v e n, my pigment is becoming true.
Some moments long, and others
f r o z e n
Quick to release, and
slow to say
g o o d b y e.
I cry and hurt
for the well of pain, I feel.
Dug deep into my soul,
is also happiness and zeal.
Simple as the
l i g h t n e s s
of each rain drop.
Falling all the way from the skies above and
This is who I am, insecurities interwoven.
Not without fear or anxiety—but with pure sobriety.
I can see the fog.
And cut the haze.
Most challenging are the present days.
Can she come, too?
The part of me that isn’t as true.
Not as shiny or attractive
as the rest.
This part of her isn’t better, not close to her best.
It’s the side she wishes to hide.
To keep locked away.
For maybe if you see this side,
you’ll too want to hide.
The places she goes
only in her mind
are the beautiful
water, wind, and light raindrops.
I am neither ego nor soul.
My brow knitted. As I try to understand.