lost on the map

Map To Me

Directions to me. I guess the assignment meant physically but you see at least mentally I’ve been, just a little lost.

So a map to me, that’s a tricky one for someone who can’t find themselves. 

The teacher said use description and imagery not just “left and right”. Thank God. Left and right might prove a little difficult when mapping out emotional confusion and maybe just a tiny sprig of unmedicated delusion. Don’t worry, just a tiny bit.

Perhaps this map would be better off if someone else was writing it. 

Directions to who I am, or maybe who I used to be. Let’s see now, back in second grade or so I was taught a method of how to go about locating what I couldn’t find. Start with trying to remind my mind of the last time I remember having what i lost. Perhaps I’ll spring up along the path as I back track down this “Map To Me”.

I distinctly remember living between inside metaphors and alliterations. Took long trips inside worlds of my own creations. while I was awake I’d take far more time typing out rhymes than I would on my homework. Fell in love with how my words ran together and the way my poetry would remind me of what’s important and I’d forget to remember  triviality, which simply stopped mattering. The buzz of ideas, the constant clattering in the back of my mind became sharper, defined. I’d write and my thoughts realigned as they slipped from my pen. Then, only then, when the world turned soft and quiet I’d crawl back into the deepest parts of myself and everything else would slip away. The harsh black and white edges of life would fade into grey and I’d spend hours a day wondering along the untracked corners of my subconscious. 

That’s where I lost me. Committed one of an authors worst crimes. Lost me in a poem, trapped between rhymes. They don’t make maps that lead to self understanding. So long as I bang on the locked doors of my soul demanding I be returned key, I’ll be standing on the farthest edges of this unwritten map that leads back to me.

Unexplored territory can’t be recorded. Directions to untraveled destinations can’t be listed or sorted. Trips to places located within someones being aren’t the types of maps I’m accustomed to seeing. So I’m stuck in a word running parallel to reality. Notice how pitifully I beg for your sympathy. Surely now you can see how desperately I’d like to be able to give you a map that might lead us to me.