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Personal Note:
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Poem
What does it mean to be alive?
Is it movement, 
taking up space, 
putting one foot in front of the other,
healing our scars,
moving on and
getting back up?

Or, is it your brain activity,
thoughts, feelings, 
emotions, swirling through your mind,
a soul powerful like a force,
a light that can brighten any darkness
inside and out?

Or is it imaginations, 
dreams, 
looking for tomorrow,
having experiences
that only lead to fulfillment,
or disappointment 
to learning something new?
Is it making a difference, 
some sort of contribution, 
meaning something to someone,
delivering a memory,
a smile, a sense of hope?

Or, could it simply be a heartbeat, 
blood pumping through your body,
full of warmth and passion, 
breathing, inhaling, exhaling, 
taking in,
letting out?

But, what if your movement is
slow, your motions invisible, 
the space you take up is wasted, 
and moving on is impossible,
because you are constantly pushed 
downwards, 
and whenever you try 
to get back up, you are sent back
falling down again and again,
leaving a scar that never
disappears?

What if you are emotionless, 
and the only feeling is numbness,
and your only thoughts are possessed 
by fascinations 
of how to stop the terror inside your darkened mind, 
and your soul was stolen by all the obscurity
inside and out?

What if you forgot how to imagine good, 
and are only led to disappointment 
by others and yourself, 
and searching for tomorrow was lost 
by an endless today?
What if every time 
you attempt to give, to have some value, 
you are shattered by rejection 
from everyone in your life 
that you lost any hope that was left?

What if your heart 
has no reason to continue beating, 
and your blood has become cold as ice? 
Are you really living 
when breathing is the hardest thing for you to do?

So tell me…
what does it really 
mean to be alive?
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