I am nothing but a soul trying to find peace
I have been beaten down to no return.
My mind is fragile, my confidence scarred
Think positive, but all I produce is negative
I feel as if I wander looking for something
Something that I cannot find
I search I search I search
I crawl, I walk, I run
Happiness, I guess that’s what I’m searching for
Or maybe it’s peace,
Hope, Or love
Love for myself once again
Love for me and my being.
I am locked. Trapped like an animal.
I try to claw my way out
But instead I end up being buried alive
I am suffocating.
It is debilitating, crushing.
Why oh why did this happen to me?
I suppose it was just a twist of fate.
If only I could see a little light
And breathe a little bit of fresh air
Maybe then this feeling will wash away
And I can finally say
I am free.
The thought of life gives me the chills, the shakes, the nerves, and everything in that category and some in between. There are so many changes, and I’m not sure how to digest them all. I categorize the changes instead, from least worrisome to the most worrisome. The ones that I can deal with.. and the ones that I feel that I cannot. It’s just life, I know. I have so many people surrounding me and supporting me, but sometimes the loneliness still strikes. It strikes so hard that it reverberates in my bones and it ricochets into my mind. In and out these thoughts flow. In and out my breathing goes as it gets faster and faster and more shallow. Everything becomes sensitive.. I try to remain cool, calm, and collected.. But, how? How, when it feels like everything is so far gone.
I close my eyes and try to imagine a new reality. One where the sunrises are vivid and the sunsets look like a beautiful canvas painting. I try to paint myself smiling, happy, and with eyes that are filled with glee. In my mind, the world looks bright. The colors are stunning and bright, just like my endless possibilities. The artist of this world is one that knows how to paint a beautiful picture. The artist in my mind knows how to paint situations to mask the real emotions. Slap a happy green, yellow, or purple over those drab blues and greys that have taken over my mind. Paint a face with a beaming smile to cover that frown. The artist in me has to make sure that smile has teeth showing, though. The artist has studied her audience a lot. She has learned that her audience, everyday people, think you are the happiest when you smile with teeth. Alas, the artist in me says she is finished with the current project. She tells me to open my eyes. I open them, and I think that I will see a gorgeous painting in front of me. Instead I see a painting that I do not want to see. I see a painting of a world that is ugly. The colors are mute and depressing. Instead of drowning my problems in the painting, they are showcased. I thought the artist in me was going to paint over this! I thought she was going to give me something happy and joyful. Instead I am left staring at a painting of my own problems, insecurities, and emotions that I wanted to cover. Perhaps it is time to stop covering them, but instead face them. Face the hideous colors as they are.
The moonlight paints the ground before her with distorted shadows of the objects before her. The trees hang over her with a certain eeriness. She said it feels as if they are whispering about her, as if they are watching her. Her tender, bare feet leave perfect imprints in the dirt. A swirl of dust kicks up by her feet as she runs. The dark night seems to envelope her. She’s searching and searching as she runs further and further into the dark woods. The cold air fills her lungs. Her tears are streaming down her face and her eyes begin to sting. What happened to her? She spins around and lets out a cry. A cry for help, a cry of sorrow, a cry of grief. But the only things that hear her are the ever present moon and the night stars. Her screams bounce off of the trees, and the night sky with such a force that even shakes her to the core. Her echo is one that can be heard for miles. Her only solace is the one she thinks is above.
What is she running from? Why is she trying to hide? She finds that she is searching. Perhaps she’s searching for herself. Perhaps she’s searching for her own soul. She runs deeper and deeper into the woods, not knowing where she goes. Her hands are dirty, her feet are hurting. Her skirt has been ripped to shreds, exposing her bare legs. They are scratched and dirty. The blood is running down. Her face is now red. Her head is still spinning.
She can hear, but she can not see. She is nothing but a lost girl. A girl who’s running and running but can not find what she is looking for. She runs and thinks that she is so close, but she is always so far away. She’ reaching and reaching, but keeps straying further into the darkness. The silence is something that is killing her. It is something dreadful. The silence makes her think. The silence makes her realize. It’s too late to return now. It’s too late to go back. So she just keeps going, with the little power that remains. She keeps going, until she has nothing left.