I wanted to write but I’m wounded.
I wanted to work but I’m ill
I wanted to exist for a reason,
But what I offer no coffers will fill.
I wanted to live unabated
I wanted to roam sea and land
I wanted to dance in the moonlight
And laugh with my toes in the sand
This pain is a weary old burden,
The self-loathing a poisonous drink
To see my identity crumble
A page up in flames doused in ink
I carry this cross the best that I can
I stumble and fall on the way
And the ones who love me and lighten my load
Parch my thirst in the heat of the day.
I ache for divine intervention
To forces unseen do I pray
To lead me to freedom and peace and to calm
And a bed of acceptance upon which to lay.