I'm not living, I'm waiting.

Like a serpent, the country road turned, 

hands follow the symmetry of bends

feeling passion upon fingers burned

worshipping minutes and hours spent.

For she is the road that takes me far

no other maiden can or will.

Sometimes I write poetry and don't finish it and then it sits in the field of my mind and waits. I heard the saying if we wait until we're ready, we'll be waiting for the rest of our lives. I realized today that I have stopped living life. I literally just trying to get to the next day, just living in the thought of tomorrow. 😱

I'm not living, I'm waiting. The trouble is I'm not exactly sure what I am waiting for. I am kind of scared of what it might be. I try not to broadcast every high and every low ( well sometimes I do, they are cries for help, I am scared.) I am trying to live. I don't try to convince the world that I have a life. 

To understand the constant ups and downs of a person with PTSD you must swim in the same waters that drowned them. I do understand however that way too many people do not have that time to wait and find out and that takes us back to the poem and the road that turns like a serpent and if you do not turn your wheel you will fall down the cliff. You will never know if you just wait and flowers can grow on something even if you never finished it.