I keep trying to find myself,

retracing my steps like a lost child but I always find they have been swept by the wind.

I keep trying to create art hoping it will help reveal me to my true self,

But empty is what I feel every time I lay my hand on a paper.

Then it hit me.

what if I am alive but I never truly lived.

Would that mean i would have been wasting time. deprived oxygen to lung that needed it most.

Would that make me the the selfish monster my parents tried to tame.

I honestly don’t know.

But I guess that’s what time is here for.