dormant

The longer I stay here, the less inspiration I have.
This place is full of beauty and all I’m seeing are brick walls, colored like hospital rooms. White, but not quite, white dumbed down.

I can't seem to write.
I can seem to see what I want to see.
I was supposed to be choreographing a dance for an audition, but I don't think I’m doing it now.
I'm being my own photographer, my own model. It's hard to find the inspiration I seek, and it leaves me with no motivation, because I can't find the words, the shots, the right steps.

I'm already lost, and I’m looking.
Home is where the heart is.
I believe it’s true.
Home, I’m alive, I’m free.
Home is everything I want to be.

The good shots are few and far between.
The perfect moves seem imposable to come by.
Am I just pretending?
Just waiting for inspiration, motivation.
I'm going home.
Yet....
I don't want to leave.
I'll leave too much.

There is something special about home.
When you know every last detail about self.
When everything falls right into place.

Maybe it's the dumbed down white that knock it out of me.
I need the colors, the warm tones, the bright tones.
The ones that don't fade into a blur in the background.

It's the greens of the summer grass.
It's the yellows in the sun that is forever shining.
It's the music we play to loud.
It's the friends I’ll never forget.

I want you to come home with me.
You'd get the real experience, the one who's not restricted by dumbed down colors. I'm going to miss you.