You thought you could move mountains and instead they moved you. You thought you had some sort of hold on the universe until you found yourself slowly losing grip on the things you held true to yourself. How can you figure out the answers hidden in the pines and fire when you cant even find the truth behind your own skin and blood?
You long so desperately for the answers to everything, so you sit and read your 3 page books expecting to understand the unthinkable, all the while learning nothing of true importance.
You sit and the weeds grow alongside the walls of your room and take over, and you're still stuck on the first sentence of "What it means to be a good person."
The earth crashes down around you and everyone else is involved in the real world and how to fix it, and your mind is still lingering in the has been and will be. Because you cling to things that you think can tell you who you are, and why they did this to you, hoping you'll get some satisfaction.
You're too scared to face the real solution: Fixing yourself. So you try to fix everthing else with ideas that you have no means to chase. So everything sits still and never changes in your life and in your mind.
While everyone around you struggles to survive off quarters and dimes, you struggle to survive off of empty picture frames and songs that reside in the past.
You become sad and distant and you strangle yourself with your own words caught in your throat. Your airway is blocked and you find yourself gasping for that last breath of air in the room, but you're still so willing to give that air to someone else, anyone else who needs it. And these people around you, they'll never care what you think about in the shower, or while you pretend to sleep, or while your friends speak of happy days and who they want to be, and all you can reminisce on is the feeling of satisfaction when you eat for the first time in a week.
You're a crushed can on the side of the road getting pounded into the gravel with every car full of memories and nightmares that passes by.
You're a tree in the winter, your branches weighed down by the purple snow and white flowers. The wind circles itself around you, snow hits the ground and all of the other trees return to spring. But the wind forgot to save you. You call its name but it's already gone off to some other vast field of trees and you wonder if itll forget some weeping willow in any of the fields to come, and how long it will take you to pull your roots from the ground, detach yourself from the soil, and roll off to save him. Because in the end you're never going to change.
You're never going to matter to yourself, you'll just worry about the people who wont think twice about you. Uncertain girl, you have no desire to attempt to be free from yourself.
