always the clueless one~
I wake with a question stitched under my skin,
A quiet rebellion, a riot within.
The clock hands move but I'm standing still,
A heart full of thunder, a mind with no will.
I taste every dream like it's almost mine,
Like stars through glass...close, but misaligned.
My hands know the shape of something more,
Like I've held my purpose in a life before.
There's a hunger that sleep has never fed,
It lives in my chest, not my head.
I try on futures like borrowed clothes,
None fit the ache that steadily grows.
Every talent I touch turns dust in my grip,
Like fate wrote my path but let the ink drip.
I envy the fire in people who know,
The ones with a direction their footsteps show.
Mine wander like smoke with no place to rise,
Tracing question marks across my skies.
Is passion a lightning strike...sudden, bright?
Or a wound that whispers to walk toward the fright?
Because something in me keeps pulling ahead,
Toward a life unlived, toward words unsaid.
Maybe the ache is the map in disguise,
Maybe the longing itself is the prize.
Maybe this thirst, this restless spin,
Is proof that my calling is calling from within.