like my head is weighed down by 1 ton of rough ugly rocks,
sitting on the sea bed and refusing to budge even a little bit.
overwhelmed and lost,
like a huge wave crashed onto me,
leaving a piece of slimy sea weed on my dishevelled head.
like I don’t know what I’m supposed to do,
bobbing around the salty seawater,
surprisingly afloat but choking on the sudden gushes into my mouth from time to time.
like I’m supposed to get my bearing straight,
but I’m just too tired right now to readjust my inner sails,
to decide should I do this first or drop that now.
BUT I FEEL
an inner peace.
A quiet but comforting force within me,
telling me that because I’m writing,
whatever it may be,
everything will take shape,
things will straighten out,
as long as I enjoy everything I do.