For a few months now I haven't been feeling exactly like myself. As someone who likes to write and create content, whatever that content may be, this type of feeling has been rather inhibiting. It's as if I've been jamming together puzzle pieces that don't exactly fit. Or as if I've been trying to create something that doesn't particularly express who I really am. In the irony of it all, I wrote this poem to explore my current mindset and to try to make sense of it.
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It’s been awhile since I met the locksmith.
They pressed a key to my palm and said,
“keep this close to your heart."
But I lost it.
Now my thoughts and ideas stay locked-
behind a thick oak door that will not budge.
Ever since I lost it, I’ve heard their cries...
And I’ve heard their pleas.
They’ve been begging to come out.
Don’t they know that I want the same?
That I want nothing more for them to paint-
the blank canvases that are placed outside that door.
I blow the dust off the glaringly white surfaces every day,
in hopes that color will soon fill them.
And maybe it’s that task that is distracting me from finding the key.
I’m forcing creativity before it’s even set free.
It’s the narrow hallway, dark and uninviting
Where I know I must go search.
The door and my ideas will still be here-
I’ve just got to find this part of myself first.