If I Were Me

How can I expect me to be me when I’m shattering into a million fragments. Even if I could be put together again, will I be the same. Missing pieces will forever be lost pieces. Even if, and when, I were to be me again, would I be me. Or would it be the me that was lost in the first place. Or ….on second thought…the me that will be never found again. Hmm?

What Do You Call It?

What do you call it
When yelling into a canyon,
My voice distant,
my own echo does not even call back?
What do you call it
When you witness that I’m fighting my own battle
And no one’s there to lend me a shoulder to cry on?
When no one’s there to wipe my tears?
What do you call it
When you realize I want to break away from my caged heart,
But my wings are held in place?
Am I sprouting too early?
What do you call it
When my shadow finds out
It has been following a stranger
All this time?
Have I run out of time for myself
Or have time itself just begun to tick?
What would you call it
When silence beckons me
To sit alongside her
And be consumed into the darkness?
Am I a broken mirror
Into which no one takes a second look?
Tell me,
Can I be mended?
Will I ever get there,
That place where promises are meant to be kept?
Will I ever trust myself to be the person I was meant to be?
I hope so.

Losing The Helm


[painting is called
De Windstoot (The Gust)
by Willem van de Velde the Younger]

I feel lost…
As I wander through the dark chasms
With a matchstick.
This emptiness in my chest…
From where does it come and why?
This feeling grows stronger and stronger
As the emptiness grows wider and wider.
My emptiness grows in me.
I know my purpose but I can’t reach it.
Or rather, I don’t know how to reach it.
It’s so dark in here that
My voice goes unheard,
my being unseen.
Am I lost
Or are people just pretending
To not see?

Drifting Away


I feel like going far away,
without telling a soul.
I feel like being lost on purpose…
wondering off to nowhere.
I feel like being a star,
just not a well-known star,
just an unknown planet,
shimmering across the night sky.
I feel like residing in the torn pages
of ancient scripts,
left untouched.
I want to be lost in unspoken words,
spoken thoughts,
left unsaid.
I feel transparent.
I want to be a nobody,
just a somebody
passing through the vivid streets
of everyday life.
I feel like running…
through large meadows
full of daisies and daffodils.
I feel like being a teardrop,
that hot, fiery sense of dread,
shedding out of your eyes,
running down your cheeks,
and onto the earth.
The sense of freedom… at last.
I feel like an iceberg,
the sense of breaking away from the rest,
and drifting away…
to an endless sea.
Drifting, drifting, and drifting.
I feel like being lost on purpose…
wondering off to nowhere,
but here.
I’ll come back one day,
Just not soon enough.