After delving into a project all about myself,and writing scholarships, I’ve grown tired of my thoughts. My metaphorical inner voice is pissing me off. Why is anything I’m saying important? With how I’m feeling, that’s a trick question it isn’t.  

This self imposed angst will eventually ear off, but since I’m here why not let it roll over me. I will fall down this grassy hill of self doubt and pick myself up. Ignoring the fresh grass and dirt stains on my jeans and the little drops of red from my shoulder on my t-shirt. Where did the blood come from? You might be wondering. Well, at some point as I was tumbling down I hit the tree of apathy and had to detangle my body from its all encompassing limbs. Eventually I escaped but it tried to cling onto me. Its claw like branches dug into my shoulder as I freed myself, leaving a wound that throbs to remind me of the false comfort I left. 

It’s time. 

It’s time to stride forward down the cobbled path I’ve created in my mind. Forcing a falsely confident swagger as the hot air of anxiety continuously tries to drag me down in a sweaty panicked hunch. Each street block worth of steps brings me to a slightly cooler patch of air. An air filling with relief. I’m continuing down this path but another hill is always looming. This one of self loathing. 

Which looks to be a much wilder ride.