Poem: Who we are on the inside

when and where do you begin to be?

we count the weeks, then months, then years

but it started way before in secret, in thought

two cells collided and before you know it

                a new heart started beating

how do you measure up your life?

in years? in months? in weeks?

we all live in the same now, but our realities

are so very different, living through days

and taking tomorrows for granted

everything you feel now you carry into the future

when it can feel like it just happened, sower of time we are

reliving the past as if it's present

carrying the load for years before you start asking

                whose is it?

our stories are our, we are the writers

we don't need anyone to tell us who to be

yet we feel burdened to be what others say

we should be, although most people listen

                just to reply

how can we feel separated from nature?

we may feel like we don't belong here

our instincts shut, our senses dulled

feeling the hollowness inside

                wanting our lives to have meaning

born into the system, we learn and we adapt

so eager to grow up, we forget how to paint and play

we are just like the air, fire, water, earth IS

not separate, but one,

for we are nature

why do we close ourselves inside?

attach to things that keep us forever occupied

we have no time for ourselves

we all know something needs to be done,

                but we're so comfortable in our glitter

when do we allow our lungs just to breathe fully?

we lost connection to everything that actually matters

burning the ground underneath as we go

are our lives but shadows,

                a mere reflection of an echo

who are we, roaming these wastelands?

a shooting star in the earths existence?

the emotions we feel are vast to us

the journeys we make are our own

                who are we on the inside?

                - the whole universe?

maybe it's enough to know

                who we are not

*

I've come to a point in my life, where I don't usually write, but when I do, it pours and I can't stop. I hope it makes sense.