I find myself not finding myself.
I get lost on the day to day.
Work seems to pull away all my energy and encompass my whole identity.
Am I even artistic anymore?
Why can't I sit down to write?
Why can't I read more than 40 pages of a novel at a time?
When did my fire turn dim?
I look at myself from the outside.
I see myself living a life, but I don't feel like I'm living it.
A normal life.
A fulfilling life.
A career, a home, a relationship.
But it's not my life.
It's not the one I wanted when I was still a dreamer.
That, of course, makes me ungrateful.
So here we go again.
I'm happy I have a job.
I'm happy I can pay for my own independance.
I'm happy I have a fiancee.
But let's be honest here, my fiancee is the only thing I've fulfilled from my dreams.
The sad part of this is he's also the only one pushing me to dream again.
And the dreamer in me, the one he fell in love with, wants to live it.
But here we are.
Sunday night, the only free day I have.
I could've continued building my dream today.
I could've sat down to write.
I could've read more than 40 pages.
I could've.
But my self is getting ready for work tomorrow.
My self is tired from the week and can't lift a finger today.
My self needs to rest off the bad vibes I get every day.
My self weeps for losing myself.
But someone's gotta pay the bills.
Afterword: I started this one day, sitting in the parking lot of my job. I only wrote two sentences and the word "work" before I had to go in. I finish it tonight, in bed, getting ready for work tomorrow. I feel like that prefectly encapsules the feeling of this short poem.