I don't feel inspired anymore...

I don't feel inspired anymore and I'm scared. 
I don't feel magic in his lips or a spark or certainty. 
I am ignorant and I allow myself to be. 
I am lazy and lethargic. 
Thoughts of what I could be doing, should be doing, run through my mind. 
Running, running, running. 
Even when I'm safe in bed where no one can hurt me but myself at least in my head I am running. 
Fear. 
There is nothing to fear but fear itself. 
Well then I fear, fear. 
I find refuge in other's stories, other's lives, but where is my solitude? 
While I am writing my heart is pounding, knowing that all of this is true, 
not even wanting to wait or be here in this moment and write it down because I should be running. 
The outside calls me. 
I hear the birds chirp and somedays I crack open my blinds and let the light in. 
I am a prisoner within myself, to myself, chained to my emotions. 
I wonder if the problem is me. 
I have so many dreams. 
Beautiful dreams, elaborate dreams, realistic, attainable, obscure, insane dreams. 
I live to dream because in that state of inter-consciousness I can not feel real world problems. 
The solutions are flowy and hazy and white. 
I take pictures of sunsets on castles and I am free. 
I long to be free. 
My inspiration comes in doses and it usually only lasts long enough to write a poem. 
I don't want you to pity me, I want you to believe in me. 
I want you to convince me to believe in myself. 
Maybe if I slowly start to convince myself it will soon be less of an acting gig and more of a truth.
Buzzing. 
My head is often buzzing and I wonder if it is because it is not receiving enough stimulation. 
Challenge yourself. Be something. Do something. Do anything. 
Make art. 
I suck at art. 
All that I thought that I came from, that I was, that I admire, it is all for not. 
Now I am stuck here re-inventing myself. 

Poem.

I don't know what I look like anymore. 

I don't know who I am. 

And sometimes, when it comes to others, I don't give a damn. 

I'm so tired of feeling, every word and everything. 

Sometimes I just want to be left alone, excuse me please,

I need to leave. 

I would like to keep self-pitying myself, and all that I do 

But I'm starting to feel guilty and realizing that it all isn't true. 

I no longer want to suffer in this box I have placed myself in, 

But I have been in here so long; I may die from sun exposure. 

When it comes to life decisions I repeat that I do not have a clue

But the truth is that I am very thoughtful and confident in most everything that I do. 

I may play dumb because it is easy but with myself I cannot lie, 

I pretend not to acknowledge that I'm living my life in disguise. 

Excuses for where my head's at, justifications for why I am late, 

I am beginning to think it is self-sabotage and that truly I may turn out great. 

I sigh in relief at the thought of it all, hoping to carry on with my head held high but just as I do, for a minute or two,

I begin again to ask myself why. 

I often get lost in the details and forget to listen to my heart, 

The only place that I find my sanity is writing here alone in the dark. 

No one truly knows where I come from,

I know that most don't give a damn.

Why should they? I don't.

I am constantly convincing myself to. 

I would like to reach out and touch you, 

To not cower from where I stand,

But the thought of it makes me queasy and I find it hard to stand. 

I often get lost in this vortex between my bed, the ground and my sheets, dreaming of what once was or what could be,

Analyzing it all for meaning. 

Comparing my cries for help to the bible,

The story of the man in the boat.  

Who denied all that came to save him,

When he could barely stay afloat. 

God will be my salvation he said,

Do not worry,

He surely won't let me down.

But when he died and he reached the gates of heaven he asked,

Why did you betray me? 

He ignored all the signs of salvation, 

All the people that reached out their hands,

And I fear that I too will end up drowning, a saddened fool.

I have come to few realizations

And in the midst I feel the wind at my feet. 

It keeps pushing me in different directions and although I was stuck before, I allow it to move me,

To sway me, and again, I start to see. 

When I ignore the inevitability that there soon will be change, 

A rush of alleviation fills my brain and the temporary endorphins convince me that I am happy, 

Content in my ways. 

I could be simple,

I say toward the end of the day,

When I think about what is to come. 

I will change my career goal to make more money,

There is nothing worth exploring out there. 

But my heart, it aches, knowing that these words are stuffing to fill the tears in my lining. 

Recently every situation has presented itself with life lessons. 

The people that I come into contact with, 

Serve as pieces of truths, 

Slowly but surely revealing themselves to me. 

I cling to their words, absorbing their advice like a dried out sponge coming into contact with water. 

I am thirsty for knowledge, 

I am open like the pores of the sponge. 

Spending my time searching for a release. 

No one thing satisfies me. 

Art. 

Music. 

Poetry.

All components of who I am.

I do not come to you for answers,

I have not one question to ask.

Flooded with thoughts of uncertainty.

Fear, I fear in itself.

I admire the brave face that they often use,

Others like me that quiver at these thoughts too.  

Just as well, I may walk away from this confession,

Pleased and feeling success.

For this pain that is ever enduring has slightly, momentarily,

Been lifted from my chest.