There is No Losing

the elements inside of me
are ripping themselves apart
i ride on waves of tumult
as if the i that i live through
is not the same as my experiences
i write my past as if i had not lived it
the feelings are separate from the
and im wondering if that makes me more broken
or more whole

life is leading me down paths i do not recognize
but feel like i know
i draw maps of places i have never been
and reminisce as i look at pictures i did not take
i am stagnant
even though i am moving

i am lost

i am trying to scream so someone can hear me
but the words get stuck on pages instead of air spaces
and i learned awhile ago that
i love things
that are inherently
out of reach


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