30 Days of Forced Writing

An Experiment in writing

My breath lingers in the frozen air,
and snow dampens the noise.
I contemplate what it means
to be.

I guess that’s the question,
didn’t Shakespeare say?
I don’t know
what I want anymore.

I’m cornered between,
finding purpose,
and accepting the possibility
that, maybe
there isn’t any.

Someone asked me
isn’t that
a liberating thought?

…is it? 

a choice
in deciding your purpose,
instead of subscribed rules
but,
how do you begin?

I’m a mechanical person,
following instructions
and looking
out the windows
on winter days,
at the snow covered forest –
a personification
of
how the rain looks
when it bathes us.

I’m aching
to be bathed
but then,
what clothes
do I wear?

What is this
body I encapsulate?
Who decides
what story I tell?
written in times’ fabric
imprinting my existence
and my insignificance

My breath lingers in the frozen air,
and snow dampens the noise.
I contemplate what it means
to be…

Those are my thoughts today. Until tomorrow, friends!

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