what do you do when you're uninspired?
when life feels like a pale instagram filter - a worn out memory.
when it tastes like a bread slice that's been toasted for too long.
when your soul doesn't catch fire anymore.
when excitement becomes an alien emotion that belongs to another space and time or just someone else.
when inspiration's at your doorstep but you can't hear the doorbell because you're too busy searching for it among the ashes of your cigarette.
what can you do when your body's a living coffin for your dead soul?

You pretend, you pretend, you pretend.
Until the clock wears out & it's finally Game Over.

Once, an old friend asked me; what would my soul look like, if others could see it?

"A bug," I replied.

To crickets, the mantis is terror incarnate--a fierce behemoth, with knives for hands and without mercy. It is to be respected and feared, it is mighty and dignified.

To a human? A mantis is...

"A bug."

It is the debris among the mud between the treads of your sneakers. It is the gross infatuation, the scientific fascination--it is weak. It is small. It is inconsequential.

I yearn for a life of primitive needs and void of wants.

I yearn for the mantis, seeking only to destroy enough to line his stomach, all in a day's work, back to the safe spot where the "bigger and badder" can't reach you.

Life would be eat, sleep, repeat,

and I detest my self-awareness. I'd rather fail the simple life of a mantis and die without need of fulfillment,

Than to realize I'll no sooner discover what "fulfillment" is to myself than reach it--and to be torturously aware of that,

So very, very, existentially aware.

"My soul would look like a bug."

It's been a little while since I decided
since I started telling everyone who asked
since I posted it in every corner
since I declared my major.

But what if I don't want to be a teacher?
What if I go off to college,
and I suddenly have the courage to do
what I didn't want to do before?

I'm afraid that it won't work
afraid I can't make it work
afraid to let go and fall
because what if it falls through?

All I want to do is music,
and yes,
I'm minoring in music
and honestly
I could be a teacher
but I'm rethinking that.

I know I don't have to go with the career
that matches my major,
and that I could finish out a teacher's license
and then go on to music.

But I could be so much more prepared!
There's so much more I could do
if I majored in Songwriting, Music Performance, or Worship Ministries.
What should I do?

What can I do?
I can take generic classes now,
ones that can count for any major,
and choose later.

But how long can I wait?
I'll just have to be patient
and wait for His guidance
because He knows what I should do.

I thought I'd grow up and become a cloud ranger;
I wasn't ready to live a life aligned.

I couldn't become a fin grazer;
I've barely skimmed the surface of this life.

I was this synthetic stranger--
too unfamiliar with my own mind...

Life was pure when it was linear

And not some bird

-short-lived

-unbalanced

-unaware

-somewhere.

That tore off it's own wings to land itself right here.

When I couldn't see where I was going I--
believed songs. They could. --they might. tell. lies.

I didn't see where I was going I
I didn't think I could go that high
I didn't think I could fly
(What are they going to remember me by)

I didn't see what was coming I
I thought this song could save my eyes
I was wrong. Well,
Maybe I was right?

Because diamonds meant more to me than saving a life.

In the end, I didn't think I would become a butterfly;
I thought I'd become what the airplanes leave behind.

This is a line, you see
A single line, so simple
Don't ask questions, please
It just is.

Now draw two more lines.
This is a flower
Your first idea
But remember it's not yours

Seven lines, now.
This is a human
This is you
Draw hair to specify gender

Thirty-two lines
I teach you to draw a box
What's inside the box?
I told you; don't ask questions

But here it has come,
The time to let you draw yourself
But let me tell you how to do it
'It's for your own good, honey'

But there are some things
That cannot be explained
How to shade;
Much too complicated

'Now go draw your own lines'
Go create your own world
Draw love, draw pain
Draw anger, draw patience

There will come a time
When I am no longer
But keep drawing;
It is as you are.

In the silence of my study room,
I swear,
I could hear my future dying.

I can picture
the colour of my mother's amber eyes
lighting up in a fire
bright enough to burn alight the dark room of my mind.

The resounding echo of
my father's pride shattering
becomes the soundtrack of my
days; I swear I could not have known
that silence could be so devastating.

Well I swear I tried to swim
across my own disappointing sea;
Well I swear the tide
swallows me.

I tried to be a journalist,
but I am not.
I tried to be a curator,
but I am not.
I tried to be a writer,
but I am not.
I tried to be a poet,
but I am not.
I tried to be a human,
And then — I slept soundly.

I write "you exist"
on the fragility of my wrist
because I need to remind myself
that this isn't a nightmare
and life has good parts too.

I need these words to fetter me
as if I were something solid
because I haven't felt that lately

I am the dead leaf
detached from branches
broken off from life

I am the echo in the mountain
too late
belonging to no one

I am the carving on the tree trunk
a reminder of a love already gone
fading, unnoticed

I am the falling star
burning, blazing
dead a million years.

I am nothing
but I exist.

I exist.