My own eyes sweep the room like I’m paralyzed. There’s nothing I can do that could set this free. All I can do is to just be me. Frozen gazes and glaring looks, I am nothing but a shadow in the night. Nothing but what I once used to be, a shell of what I forever wish to be. Something that could hurt me in the long run but also something that provides that galaxy within me life once more. As I am a shell, I find that the real me has gone on, moved on, to something better, more spectacular.
My shadow climbs up walls and passes trees; in the night with all it sees. I feel like nothing more than what I used to be, but there’s something inside me that sets me free. There’s something in there, something true, something real and glowing with a golden hue. Something right and real and good, filled with sanity and something like the inkling that I could. The inkling that everything I could ever want could be made true, if only I get let go of the vision of what I had wanted to see. Because I know it will be made right; I know that everything in this world has a fight of its own, something I will always know. On a personal level, there’s something I wish I could be. Cherry blossoms and an erected tree. Standing so tall, shining within the night. How I would love these things to hear my plight.
But my soul is yet to take flight, I want to shine bright. But sometimes I feel as though there is nothing that I could ever do to be real or different or new. But even as I think this, I know that the world is working towards providing me with everything I’ve dreamt of anew. Everything I’ve fought for, just for me with something so sacred that I can’t begin to fathom its creation and its reign. Just the thought that someday could ever know my name, without having met me first. That brings me to that fountain with thirst. The fountain of everything that I wish I could be; drink from it and I will be free. Everything I could ever discern, right from wrong and one nasty burn.
Scars along my body, even deeper ones along my mind. These once independent limbs are now mine. Doing as I tell them and obediently returning the favor; something inside me burns with a strange flavor. Something I can trust, though I struggle to trust even myself. Maybe I can pull my deepest feelings off the shelf. And within this mind of mine, I can perhaps find and discover what I have yet to find.
I’ve always wished to be like others, but perhaps I shouldn’t wish that. Perhaps I wasn’t made to be like others. Maybe I was made simply to be me. And that’s alright, as there is solitude as far as my eyes can see. The colors that I’m dyed have yet to come alive, but once they do, there’s nothing within me that can truly die.