Sometimes, I feel lost.
Now is one of those times.
I look at the vacant spaces and have to accept
that nothing has stopped me from living but me.
Sometimes, I look for inspiration.
Nowadays, it only makes me feel
weaker, sadder, handicapped, fruitless and scared.
What ought to inspire me pulls me down.
Sometimes, I want to escape
to another city, to a farm or another country.
But I know that there is no escape
from what I carry in my head.
Sometimes, I want to die
and that tells me I forgot to take a pill,
the little blue one
that makes me like everyone else.
Sometimes, I sit down to write.
And I find myself.
And people tell me I inspire them.
And I am content in my head, and alive.
(1:20 pm, Friday 3rd May. No edits.)