The necessity of getting lost to find yourself
We are born into corridors,
measured, labeled,
painted neutral,
walls rising before we learn how wide
our thoughts can stretch.
Lines are drawn early:
This is far enough,
this is acceptable,
this is where you stop.
We are told our ideas must sit quietly,
folded into boxes like unused maps,
that imagination is dangerous if it wanders,
that questions should behave
and answers should already be known.
Life, they say, is safest when it stays
inside the margins.
But something restless stirs
beneath the rules.
A pulse.
A whisper …
The necessity of getting lost to find yourself
