i’m stuck between a rock and a hard place
except the hard place is me and my
stubborn tongue with my fast moving lips
unruly hair with sweat dripping town my finger tips.
starting over is supposed to be liberating and sweet
but i cant seem to move my feet
fast enough to be on my way to progressing and
growing in the forward direction.
i wish i knew myself better
and i wish i could understand the enigmatic
part of my minute world
but i suppose thats the point of all this.
it is my mission to one day consider all
and until then my ideas remain detached
my soul almost dried up
with the smallest amount of hope