Talking to Myself
Indecisive to the direction I go,
You’re like the wind.
Taking misguided steps to nowhere,
your foot’s in front of the other—going somewhere.
Having nothing to offer within these bare branches,
you still reach out while standing tall.
I feel like I don’t belong.
You’re a flower in a misplaced forest.
When I’m lost in my flaws, I ask myself,
“How can I be lost if I’m everywhere?”