If I could find the words

I am drifting, a lonely piece of driftwood covered in pale moonlight on an open sea. I don’t know where I am going nor where I came from, but I am drifting. I feel hollow, empty like a piece of me is gone and it can’t be replaced. I used to eat to fill the void, but even food can not fill the space in my chest. I feel like a Ukrainian egg one hit away from shattering into a million pieces and I am fragile. I am frozen in fear, afraid of death, but more afraid of living. Anxiety takes me hostage and no one is willing to pay its ransom I am alone. Is it selfish that even when I am surrounded by people I feel like the only one in the room? Is it wrong to believe that no human is worth trusting and that I am not worth loving? To be honest I don’t know the answer. I am utterly overwhelmed. This world has so many songs, so many stories, so many tales to tell and yet I can only tell one of them. I want to curl into a ball until the moon light turns to sun, but I need to be stronger than that. If not for me, at least for you.

This poem is about: 
Me

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