Like lightening, it strikes me when I least expect it,
giving me no time to prepare for the consequences.
It creeps in the background,
like a shadow hiding from the sun.
It makes me panic,
It’s the drum beating the rhythm of my life.
It’s the pen that writes my memoir,
the typewriter broken in two,
the publisher that always says no.
It’s the force that builds the walls,
the gap that can’t be closed,
the enemy that runs inside.
It’s what keep me hoping, yet keeps me stuck.
It dangles freedom just from my reach, and keeps me coming back for more.