the most full of wisdom
at the most inconvenient times
when all I can do is find myself
preaching some sort of
the kind that others
become victim to
whimpering to the moon,
try to find someone worth swooning over,
not really feeling the hang over,
the aftermath of the other night,
like my mind is somehow putting up a fight,
trying to withstand the upper-hand,
trying to understand my emotional bearing,
the very thing that keeps me afloat,
some might call it my inner boat,
the one that keeps you pushing,
sailing towards something bright,
the kind of thing that just feels right,
not always knowing whether to go north or south.
But drifting, just drifting with a plane in sight.
I haven’t really written in awhile, and I feel that it’s not necessarily a good thing. I think I’m going to try to integrate it more into my life.
How might one go about answering this?