Years ago mom asked me
what I wished to be.
I had a million answers,
but my heart quivered, uncertain.
I explored each door and pathway,
an endless array of ideas,
and charted each one to completion.
But still, I caught myself yearning.
It's as if my heart already knew
that the answers I had
weren't the right ones.
And onwards I continued, searching.
The illusion I sought, though,
it couldn't be found.
I was looking behind the mirror
and not in it.
YOU ARE READING
Ghostwriter
PoezjaLiving with mental illness can oftentimes trap one within the inner maze of their mind. In that place, dreams, fears, wishes, and regrets all compile together to create a new world far from the one we physically exist in. At times, it becomes easy t...
