It was written on a gloomy day when trials of self-existence and its unwelcomed gesture of truth started to display. The way my mind works is confusing. Have I ever imagined myself as my own, or am I still learning about my existence? Partially speaking, Do I exist? I am unaware of my speech. My actions are mine. A puppet who is writing just because a skill exists with no use or value. What is my value? My worth?My existence reason? Am I immortal or mortal? Are the speeches I speak really mine? If it is true, then why do I change with emotion and speak sometimes against my will? I am still searching for things that are or aren't concerned about mine.
IMG BY: Alexia Anonima
Img: A girl with guitar attached at the back
Text: A poem about psychological confusions
FROM: ADMIN journeytopoetry@gmail.com
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