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The Journey

I hate this, I scolded my subconscious mind
This sense of detachment from reality, feeling hopeless
For the first time, I am not in control, powerless
After a few minutes of negativity and wallowing in self-pity
I told myself : Get over yourself, It’s not worth it

I took a deep breath

I took an imaginary ride to my inner self
A place I always go, that corner in the depths of my being
My heart and its quiet desperation for freedom, to live beyond conventionalism
Does not help either

This notion of romanticism is
Idealistic
In a world where almost everything feels desensitized
And we can never escape from our personal
Responsibilities and desires

So I ran away that night

I traveled to the Far North
Hoping that with this new adventure,
I would have a story to tell, new boxes of memories to fill and
Photographs to put up on my wall

I seek contentment in myself
Serenity, Tranquility without finding my
Pot of gold at the end of the rainbow
And I’m still a child, who wants a garden like Monet’s
Still that child in awe of evening skies in different hues
But I’m that adult who still get the morning blues on my commute

For the love of God, i tried to find meaning
In everything
But who am I fooling?
Maybe I am one of the empty,
I’m still finding and I’m still learning

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Comments

Nice to meet you. I like your title, it fits the piece. But it reads more like prose than poetry, to me. Perhaps you should restructure it as prose (just a suggestion) I did enjoy the read. I liked these lines:

This notion of romanticism is
Idealistic
In a world where almost everything feels desensitized
And we can never escape from our personal
Responsibilities and desires

always, Cat

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