Another Island

I feel like a drunk man, stumbling through life, staying up much too late and barely able to wake when I should. The words in my mind refusing, almost, to dispense with their non-use, continue in hiding and those that do come make me sound pretentious. It’s almost as if I know these words, the ones I use, do something, they cause something but I’m almost uncertain of what exactly that is. I feel displaced and unable to speak.
I walk through this new campus with an ill feeling of non-belonging. “I am here,” I think to myself. A humbling thought if nothing else. My alma matter refusing to except me home, where I belong, least in my mind. I find myself bucking the system. I’m at a moment where I want what I want and maybe, I think, that is only to cause a ruckus. If for no other reason to let those nearest, know that I still exist. And what comes of this? What will come of this? That is the question, I pose to myself and of myself.
I came across this thought today: what can I do, what will I do with another useless degree. I studied creative writing in my idealistic state, in hopes that the pursuit of my dream would yield me much of what I wanted. What is it I want? This is clearly the question that now resounds. I want to be at the helm, I thought. To tell the eye, where it should place itself and how it is that it should look into my world, the one that only I can create. Now I find myself, almost wondering what that world is. But the undying ember is still there, somewhere within the shadows cast upon it by the paradigms of our own, my own weak existence.
So I find myself in some desultory path around and through this island of myself…hoping there should be some direction left in that tiny flame of self.