That time of the year.

There's an endless amount of hate for January. It's always this time of the year where I begin to question my path in life. Is what I'm doing the right thing for me. The answer is almost certainly no, but January seems to bring out the worst, depressed, stressed side of me. So what I do is write. I write and write until the words and the brain stops thinking. Here's the first in what could be quite a few poems in the next few days.

January

Reflecting into the bleak January morning,
Dealing with decisions delicately dawning,
Take a glance over the map of my plans,
Blueprints of destiny I hold in my hands.

Torn between the path now chosen to travel,
Seemingly left to twist and unravel.
And the route that requires me to be brave,
But the seams of my soul it’s likely to save.

Whirlwinds and hurricanes are heading my way.
Battering my vessel and leading me astray.

Washed over with thoughts of dying alone,
Endless doubts over this course have blown.

While it’s true the alternative will also feel pain,
There’s a chance I’ll stand tall while facing the rain.
Emerge through the worst and step up to run,
A short time from now we will bask in the sun.