Warmth

1

I don't see myself living in the next few years
I don't even see myself old.
God I wish that my mind would form age instead of galaxies and conspiracies and depression and anxiety and angst and worthlessness and the idea that everyone else deserves love except me.
Maybe it's an old soul I have.
Maybe I think too artistically because I belong somewhere else.
I'm called a child for not putting enough effort into my life, but what about the arts. And love. And peace for this world?
Should I give this up?
Should I give up poetry and novels and reading and singing? All for the need of age?
All for the need of pleasing others?

-M