Life-raft

Struggling over the words to place side by side to express emotion.

She’s torn by conflicted feelings.

A smattering of happiness dapples over the dark shadow of anxiety that sits with her.

Waiting for the cloud to pass is a never ending story, so it seems.

Yet time keeps ticking and plans keep being made. And broken. Forgotten. Hidden.

Self love. Self worth. Self growth.

All of these things she aims to achieve and strive for, yet she doesn’t know how.

What is the purpose of it all? She asked once, hoping for an epiphany.

Friends. Family. Love. Came the reply.

But it all sounded so feeble to her lonely, lost heart.

Like this poem, she is a muddle. A confuddled confusion of everything combined together in an attempt to try and understand the world she finds herself in.

It isn’t your world. It isn’t the world her parents expected for her. It isn’t even the world she woke up in last week. She’s changed a few times since then, you see.

Yet, despite what she expected, she’s still here.

Still striving.

Still hoping and trying to untangle the web of silly string that is her life.

And, more importantly (probably), still hoping and trying to make it joyous along the way.

Hope. She still clings to it. (Thank god.) For hope is her life-raft in this turbulent, fucked up sea.

Oh, and she? She is me.