My hands are always reaching for the things they cannot hold,
Chasing the horizon for a dream that I was sold,
Chasing until the trail grows cold.
A story that is not mine to unfold,
Wishing for a dawn where my heart can be bold.
And when the dark water pulls heavy and deep,
It is okay to surrender, to breathe, and to weep.
Just ride out the current, let the storm break and pass,
Until the wild surface turns smooth like glass.
Keep telling the story where I'm the monster. It’s a great way to avoid growing up and taking responsibility for your own mess. Painting whatever picture makes you feel innocent. But at some point, you need to stop acting like the world is against you and finally get a grip.