Empty Pot

It sits in pieces,

waiting.

I can admire that patience that I do not possess.

Which single piece to pick up first?

For I can only balance carrying one at a time

and that same time is running low.

Maybe these words are all I have

to remember the voice that once spoke.

Refraining from stereotype with clarity and understanding.

Dependance has grown and will not stay still.

Although, my reflection does remain regardless of whether it is trustworthy.

What does it truly mean to be comfortable

because I am tracing the outlines of those who speak up

and yet I am still falling behind.

Compromising and battling.

Isolated thoughts in the morning carry me through idle journeys

searching for a pass for an empty pot.