I don't know what happened to me, poetry was once my everything.
Now I lost my free spirit, my way of life.
I've been so distracted that I lost focus on what's mine.
My words, my pen, my paper. All things fell out of sight.
My mind drifted off of what kept me sane.
I let depression and emptiness take away what was mine to enjoy.
Doubting myself wondering if I can even do it anymore.
Oh the joy of reading something after I spilled my heart out onto the paper.
Nothing makes me feel more alive than my pen and my paper.