I keep staring at a blank paper like I have no feelings.
I feel like I have no words to say anything about that’s happened these last few days.
All of my drive and hunger for these words to pour of my hands and scream at the top of my lungs
Have been dried up and I can’t even stand to rise up.
I let out a breath and keep on running my eyes over the empty lines of this paper
My head spins, eyes are stuck in my head but like a pinball machine to crash through my brains
My hands make no words.
No emotions left to tell the next person how I feel about this world.
I’m not suicidal, I’ll tell you that I might sound dramatic.
But I feel powerless; bed ridden on my heart to reach whatever it is I dream of.
It isn’t college or a career that I thrive for.
It isn’t the fame to walk down Hollywood or Broadway with my star on the sidewalks.
It is not even a straight A report card that interests me.
As much as I live for those things to be successful, I don’t care about it.
And I can do it all in my sleep if I wanted to but I just don’t have the drive to.
If you ask me what it is am I dreaming of, I ought to tell you.
I stare at this blank paper like I have no feelings to tell
Or words to explain what happened these last few days - To be honest, I still don’t.
But I feel tension rising in my chest like I have to breathe out my desires
Honestly, I don’t feel free. I never do.
I don’t ever feel like I have the power to do anything that I want to do.
It’s insane that this is a free country and there are limitations but I have no power.
I dream of being alive.
Surprising? Not that kind of alive.
The kind where you are speechless at where you’re standing and you notice who you are.
The feeling where you don’t feel stressed out or targeted into something while you do it your own way.
Where you just believe in yourself that you know that you’re going to be alright.
And if you ask me how come I don’t feel alive, it is because I didn’t realize my head in the clouds.
I didn’t realize the sound of stone attached to my feet or the looks of papers piling up in front of me.
I want to run freely into the woods with all my pain being released from my soul,
Wild and free into the life I take on with my two bare hands.
Climbing every single mountain I face and flying into the rain that brings me happiness…
Breathing in the mist smell of the dry earth.
I know I have that getaway in June but it’s once a year.
All these school assignments that I have to do? It’s full of laws and expectations of life.
But what about the laws of creativity?
The expectations of crazy true colors?
I realize about 20 minutes later, this paper that I have been staring at is written.
I can feel myself smile to compliment myself in the work I have done.
A tap on the window was given by the pouring rain outside of this office.
I see the tree being green and a faded trunk holding up its courage.
I breathe and remember, the reasons why I still survive in this messy world.
Trees reminds me that people hate trees so much that they turn them into papers and wood
But they still try to survive by standing tall and strong with all of their pains.
Poetry, my best go-to with a pen and a paper to make a heart with all of my pains and joys.
They allow me to run wild and free with words flying on a simple paper.
And me? I know I’m the most important person in my life.
Just remembering that, gives me the courage to write everything that I feel and think and know about this world.
I read my last line: “The voice we have is within our fingertips.”