Can I Live?

Can I live?
Can I live the way my imagination sees fit? It won't stop running wild, but yet I'm constantly forced to sit down. Be still. Focus on a certain topic. Eight hours straight adds up to 16 hours a day. Repeating the same actions over and over again. Monotonous actions have been trained to rule my life. But my mind is fighting. My imagination threatens to take control, distracting me at the most awkward of moments. I can't help but think about what the future holds. How far away is that trip to New York City, or that move to California? Which place is the key to a writer's heart? How long will it be until I meet the man of my dreams?  He could be a 6'4 stallion, built strong, and looking like more than I can handle. Or maybe he'll be 5'9, bright and charming, with a sex appeal to still knock me off my feet. Whoever he is, will he really be interested in me? I have to know. I need to see.

Can I live? Sometimes I feel like I'm repeating myself, but no one's really hearing. What will it take to get them to pay attention? Who's attention do I really need? Does a paycheck define living or is it my experiences? The more I allow my mind to take me places, the more stories I have to tell. Those the times I cherish the most. Like that time at that gas station at 2 in the morning could have easily turned into a horror movie scene. I had to pee. My apartment was still about 15 minutes away. I thought there was no one around. Someone spotted me. I thought my life was over. He was just a homeless man in need of money. It was hilarious. See, I feel like I actually live, but I want to continue to live?

Can I live? I have some power, but when people allow me to have more power over myself? Can I live?