I Wish I Had Realized Sooner That U Could Have Been Mine.

I want to do so many things with my life

But.

Motivation is so hard to come by sometimes

I can’t decide if I want to live in a big city and work in a coffee shop, or go to school and become a Nobel prize winning scientist

My future is in my hands and that’s scary

Is this what it means to live?

To drink tea black only to cringe at the bitterness? To watch from the sidelines as your peers race towards success? To read a book unseeingly? To cry at the most beautiful landscapes because there is no colour? To sit in the driveway and stare at nothing while thinking of everything? To only feel seen when you have made a mistake? To ride a high to the very edge until you drop off the cliff at the end and fall into the black again?

Is this really what the poets write about? What do they see in this bleak world, other than shades of grey steadily getting darker. Will their last words be of praise or will they be of disappointment.

This life has left me behind to starve in the dust. Maybe there is a God above, but who’s to say They haven’t abandoned us? Abandoned me? Motivation runs in short supply, burning out before it leads me anywhere.

Maybe I just need sleep. But even there I dream of my shortcomings from past and future. Even there I can not escape the eyes.

Sitting on a rooftop, in the stillness of the late night, is only when I feel fulfilled. Is when I feel as though my life pivots around me and not them.

That’s where I will stay. Searching for meaning in the stars.

Those galaxies far away that have no idea I even exist. Those planets that continuously orbit even when the oppressive grip around my throat tightens. Those suns that give life no matter what task I fail.

They remind me that the world will keep going. The universe will still fill the emptiness.

My blood is a remnant of long dead stars. I feel their light scald my heart when a kitten chooses to sit on my lap. My eyes hold stardust upon seeing the sunset. My lungs are filled with their white heat when they fiddle with my hands. My feet, powered by reactive elements, carry me through clouds of regret. My arms lift with the strength of their gravity.

I guess living is more than saying the right things. More than playing by their restrictive rules.

It’s about knowing where you came from and the might you carry in your very bones.