That feeling of itching under the skin.
A tickling sensation in the back of the brain.
That ‘knowing’ – that something is not right.
Do you have a name for it?
There is so much stimulus and reiteration in my world, nagging me that I am capable of better things. That the potential within me, only needs the smallest action to let it into the light. But I cannot make it happen.
I know I am broken.
Shards and splinters of the real me, lie just under the surface of my skin. Always irritating and provoking me – of just how broken I am.
Yet something stronger niggles at me . . . .
Despite the torment and solitude,
I just can’t imagine a life lived as ordinary.
Living without passion,
our time of stay on this Earth
doesn’t even register.
40,000 years, and we don’t take up a millimetre of space on the Earth’s Timeline.
We are THAT infinitesimal.
More microscopic, than minuscule!
And knowing this,
I have to live my life as
colourfully, brightly and creatively as I can.
I have to use every atom,
MY *Asthma* may be ever present,
but it isn’t who I am.
I am budding flowers,
the light shone through dragonfly wings,
the taste of freshly cut watermelon.
I am the notes in my favourite song,
the wag of a dog’s tail,
the colours of tropical coral and fishes.
I cannot be ordinary.
It’s not me!