Inked Sins

Sitting here in this tree house
I see beautiful things all around me
But I cannot see the beauty inside.
So many thoughts
This persistent feeling of thinking of myself as an impostor.
Am I really? An Impostor?
It’s a heavy word.
Why do I think this way?
Why am I so aware of my surroundings yet so absent?

Now the Sun is slowly going down
Painting the sky with the hues of gold.
I have stopped to admire it.
But the thoughts are here again.
Why do I dwell in my mind
When the world around me is so extraordinary?
These trees, this river, this tree house, these people –
They surround me.
The setting sun, distant whispers, barking dogs
Fill the air.
There is so much to take in.

Yet, I stay absent.
Why am I like this?
I really want to know.
I really want to change.
I really want to live.
Am I already a lost soul?
But even the departed have an identity.
I don’t know mine.
I am trying to find it.
Trying to be myself and not hate that girl.
Trying to find who I am or what I want.
Trying to love those who love me.
Trying & trying & trying.
Trying but not knowing if I am on the right path.
Not sure if I am giving my all.
I miss home but I don’t belong there anymore.
So many thoughts in my mind
But nothing seems to make sense.
Why? Why? Why?
How did I end up here?