Passion (or lack there of)

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
I've felt lacking in passion about anything lately. I don't know how to express clearly how much I hate feeling this way, but this is my attempt.

Submitted: January 03, 2012

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Submitted: January 03, 2012



"What am I passionate about?,"

I very passionatly shout.

But I doesnt help me to yell,

I'm still in this shell.
A shell of knowing nothing.

I just want to know something.

But I cant help this drought,

I dont know what it's about.

I am not inspired any more.

My muse is locked inside a drawer.

I simply havn't been myself

I'm stuck on an unreachable shelf.

The process of slowly, so slowly,

becoming an adult is eating me away.

I am no longer myself. I am no one.

I wish to be as I was. My life

is becoming and endless rampage

of one cage after another.

This is what I wanted, right?

It is, it still is, of course.

It is the correct path to travel.

But what is the price?

Must I give up my passion

to take the next step on my path?


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