Stuck

Here's a little messy poem I wrote today and it's called Stuck,

dont sleep so the day wont come sooner
birds chirping own world separate to ours
no life just constant
constant reeling on a lack of movement
like a picture book

not a pretty one
with mashed mashed spark of creativity
gone

flash before your eyes
one hour euphoric
the rest lies still

yearn to be like them
avoid the inevitable self destruct

delinquent self made enemy
but

im not hurting you
just me

If you want a little context for the poem, it's 6am, and I'm in a state of neither moving forward nor backward, just kind of floating around and avoiding a lot of issues that need to be dealt with. Which essentially leads to letting people down, which I don't want to do. I've whittled the main body of this poem into a little lesson for myself: hiding leads to more hiding until you become the shadow of you. Which isn't good when somebody turns out the light.

So it all starts great, cutting out all the negativity in your life, freeing the ties. But then you start to get a little carried away with yourself and start to cut out some important bits that you kind of have to do as an independent adult. Which ultimately develops an unhealthy habit of running away instead of facing the problem, probably something we've all been a little guilty of at some point.

An effective solution to this seems to be asking for help or admitting defeat, rolling over and letting capable hands take over. It seems to always boil down to my same internal conflict of a stubborn 'make do and mend' strong woman and a lost little girl who just wants to be looked after. The little voice in my head is constantly telling me to sort it out, I'm trying, and I'll get there some day.

So honey, get on with it, even if it feels like your drinking molasses.

Z x