Will There be Poetry?

Night was stolen from me in spite of its all consuming dark.  Even my dreams had no time for me. Staring into a ceilingless void, a wormhole of wondering, fear, anxiety. My heart racing to a song my mind could make no sense of.

A grey dawn brings me no reprieve. Hot tea and nicotine. There is no poetry to be found. My thoughts eat away at what little peace I've summoned. I always knew it would not stay. Now the unknown whispers in my ear as my imagination runs away with worse case scenarios, intimidating to the point self doubt rises and sticks in my throat, the lyrics to the song of myself, once again, forgotten.

I am a work in progress granted a canvas I never asked for. It is a pit stop on a road map taken only because it's there. I will take the experience, build my resumé, and pray somewhere along this highway, there is poetry to be found.

Natasha Head

2013