Finding Myself

Scorched by the Sun,
Scratched by the thorns,
I walk through streets and woods alike
In a desperate pursuit.
Melting into a puddle of tears,
Freezing in the hold of a frigid numbness.
A lone wolf out for hunt,
Or perhaps just a helpless pup roaming in the city , barely alive.

Lost and starved- with nothing to my name,
But the grave misfortune is that there’s no name in the first place;
Bereft of any unremitting glory,
In need of a constant wave of troughs and crests,
A plea for freedom from sporadic cycles of joy and doom;
I look far away, farther away,
And then a little more.

I touch my scalp in search of wicked horns,
Or maybe a glowing halo circumscribing my head,
But I never find either.
Am I good or am I bad?
Always torn in a tussle between right and wrong.
How do I know what I’m cut out for?
When every single day, I’m different,
When with each sunrise, I’m new?
And yet I run, I walk and I crawl,

All for finding myself.

Yours truly,

The Ink Warrior.