Tracing Faded Lines
To draw, or not to draw, that is the question.
Is it better to sketch lines that I can never find satisfaction from,
Or to give up entirely on the pursuit of creativity?
Worrying about every move; Meticulously playing on every insecurity.
Berated by my own brain for what others would say is fine. Would I be happier forking over what makes me, me? For the possibility of finding happiness in the dregs that remain? Striving for perfection when I can’t even see the pages as half-decent anymore; Am I asking for too much?
I will have more time to rest, to waste away my time without a care.
But all my hollow self will see is envy.
Envy to the people who have it figured out, who had the perseverance to keep going
I, forever stifling an urge to create and a voice to be heard.
But why keep going for something I feel so sickened by? Is it to resemble myself? Or was it even me to begin with? Being stuck in constant loops of disassociation with the end so close yet so far away?
I shall give up my pen, as I feel it doesn’t belong to me, and never has.
For here I lie, awaiting the next specimen to take notes upon.
Forever someone else’s blank canvas.
ASK Catalyst 
April 25, 2022 at 8:27 pm
Beautiful poetry.. 😇