As I sit on the bench, watching the sun rise, I think to myself,
Who am I? Who is this girl, sitting by herself at a park at five in the morning?
Neither happy nor sad, neither free nor chained.
Yet, I feel weighed down and numb.
Confused. Lost. And I want nothing more than to be held.
Held and soothed like a young child in his mother's arms.
But, alas, the world is not a wish granting factory. We don't always get what we want.
The world is a fat, stinking mess.
And in this mess, everyone and everything is tossed and juggled all about.
Everyone else seems to have it figured out though.
At least they make it seem like they do. That is a gift I am not blessed with.
You can read the dismay on my face as if it were tattooed on my forehead.
My thoughts slowly fade away just like the dark blue sky fades into a bright orange one.
One thought remains, however. The same one that always remains.
Who am I?