Maybe It's Nothing At All.

I idly stare at the world around me while the thoughts in my head finally go silent.

I parade my words around like handouts for the needy as if maybe one day they'll be in a textbook.

Nothing inspired the way that I talk; 

I only ever had examples of what not to be.

My hands are rough from carrying all the suitcases stuffed tight with emotional scars.

Digging to find the surface again; my nails are broken.

My shoulders pray for a pressure release from carrying the weight of the world.

I was born to be a map.

With my heart as my guide, I still leave room for the wind to blow me anywhere. 

The stars are bright but my soul guides the way.

I am the lonely road winding down into dark alleys. 

I am the light at the end of the tunnel. 

The voices interrupt my frantic thoughts when I am in my own head;

I crave a release from always being on both sides of the spectrum.

I never could check just one box; I am multifaceted.

Put that on your "describe other" box.

I could say that I am inspired by the stories of struggle.

I could say that I am inspired by the liberation of self from one's own inner demons.

Maybe the thing that inspires me most is how we still manage to wake up again.

Afraid of what tomorrow will bring because we know it wasn't promised to us.

Losing my grandmother taught me that nothing in this life is promised and you only have one chance at it.

So as I fill out this empty canvas explaining my inspirations as you expect to read something happy,

Maybe it's nothing at all.

Simple, cut, and dry; a whisper in the night telling me to just do it.

Maybe it's the most empty thing you've ever heard;

Maybe it's nothing at all.