Nothings New
Nothings new.
Everything is the same,
My rhythmic breathing,
My constant talking,
My repetitive walking,
My endless routine of functioning.
Nothing has changed,
Instead it’s a constant loop repeating itself.
Though they say history will repeat itself,
and without a fail,
It always does.
But history tends to repeat in different fonts,
Different selections,
Different words.
Though it seems fate has decided to finally repeat my history,
Sitting there gingerly with a book in her hands,
Flipping through the pages gently,
like the breeze on a fall day.
She reads the pages with a gentle gaze,
Watching the trauma and grief ensue upon my life,
Yet she does this for a reason.
She thinks this will teach me,
Teach me what I need to know,
And what I need to learn.
Though I’ve been told not to challenge her,
I can’t deal with a constant loop of endless struggle and despair.
Instead I shall expand from her worn pages,
and create my own book,
My own hand turning the pages and dictating my life.
I’m done playing the puppet in her show,
For now I shall control something that should have always been mine.
~ N
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