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Inside a shell

Published on
I don't think I have really lived my life.
I take the happenings in my mind seriously,
yet the rest of the world seems to flash by,
in front of my eyes.
It leaves marks on my body or rather I do,
which I recollect in solitude,
giving proof to beliefs
of my existence.
The wounds validate me.
Of my humanity in their vulnerability.

It is a strange world I live in,
elusive yet impactful emotionally.
The tumult I undergo are unseen by the world
Soon forgotten when I look back.
I recount the events that occurred in my lifetime,
unaware of my folly,
as half my life was lived inside.
Inside a shell.
A womb that fails to protect me.
One that hurts me,
more than I care to remember.

I am hurt yet do not know why.
I am melancholic,
perhaps that's the way it's meant to be.
I am satisfied with what I have made my life to be.
It is mine, I dare say.
I can hand it over,
give it up any moment I please.
Yet for the time being,
I choose to be.

The emotions get triggered by stimuli,
yet they were already there,
simmering beneath the surface,
only erupting when someone poked me.
Or rather at me.

Today I realized I am on the verge of my life.
I have no past pulling me down,
no future luring  me,
to obsess over conceived inconsistencies. 
Every moment that comes after the other,
is welcome and free.

I am living my life the way it's meant to be.
I don't think I have really lived my life.
I take the happenings in my mind seriously,
yet the rest of the world seems to flash by,
in front of my eyes.
It leaves marks on my body or rather I do,
which I recollect in solitude,
giving proof to beliefs
of my existence.
The wounds validate me.
Of my humanity in their vulnerability.

It is a strange world I live in,
elusive yet impactful emotionally.
The tumult I undergo are unseen by the world
Soon forgotten when I look back.
I recount the events that occurred in my lifetime,
unaware of my folly,
as half my life was lived inside.
Inside a shell.
A womb that fails to protect me.
One that hurts me,
more than I care to remember.

I am hurt yet do not know why.
I am melancholic,
perhaps that's the way it's meant to be.
I am satisfied with what I have made my life to be.
It is mine, I dare say.
I can hand it over,
give it up any moment I please.
Yet for the time being,
I choose to be.

The emotions get triggered by stimuli,
yet they were already there,
simmering beneath the surface,
only erupting when someone poked me.
Or rather at me.

Today I realized I am on the verge of my life.
I have no past pulling me down,
no future luring  me,
to obsess over conceived inconsistencies. 
Every moment that comes after the other,
is welcome and free.

I am living my life the way it's meant to be.
I don't think I have really lived my life.
I take the happenings in my mind seriously,
yet the rest of the world seems to flash by,
in front of my eyes.
It leaves marks on my body or rather I do,
which I recollect in solitude,
giving proof to beliefs
of my existence.
The wounds validate me.
Of my humanity in their vulnerability.

It is a strange world I live in,
elusive yet impactful emotionally.
The tumult I undergo are unseen by the world
Soon forgotten when I look back.
I recount the events that occurred in my lifetime,
unaware of my folly,
as half my life was lived inside.
Inside a shell.
A womb that fails to protect me.
One that hurts me,
more than I care to remember.

I am hurt yet do not know why.
I am melancholic,
perhaps that's the way it's meant to be.
I am satisfied with what I have made my life to be.
It is mine, I dare say.
I can hand it over,
give it up any moment I please.
Yet for the time being,
I choose to be.

The emotions get triggered by stimuli,
yet they were already there,
simmering beneath the surface,
only erupting when someone poked me.
Or rather at me.

Today I realized I am on the verge of my life.
I have no past pulling me down,
no future luring  me,
to obsess over conceived inconsistencies. 
Every moment that comes after the other,
is welcome and free.

I am living my life the way it's meant to be.

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