WHAT DO I FEEL

What is this? I am thankfully thoughtless; I paid my dues without knowing the cost would come through someday. I was not born yesterday, but over the night, I was born today; some might think it strange, but don't you say who I am when I'm not around? Who am I when the dust settles down and quiet are the storms?

What do I feel when I sing a song of my own, and for those that sing along, what do I think when I'm feeling everywhere is where I belong, and my wings allow me to fly away when I no longer care to stay

What is this path that goes from being well-lit to complete darkness? I go from hot to cold, looking for something or someone to keep me warm by its hold while I continue to write the story that needs to be told.

What is this that has me jumping through hoops and running in circles? I am the first to admit that I do not know the word quit, and my silence speaks a thousand words that go heard and unheard.