Missing Body

What is missing?

What is it that makes you so sad, so scared, that stops you from seeing all that is and all that can be?

What is missing?

I am the problem.

Not me, the person I am. But the person I think I am. The lost soul continually looking outwards for fulfilment, constantly presenting the perception of me, for fleeting glimpses of relevance, hope, love.

Yes, this is the problem. I seem to live in my head, believing that my thoughts are who I am, lost in the whirlwind of wanting to know what can never be owned, only to find there is still something missing. 

A simply complex problem that seems to have grown in resilience with years of so-called self-development. A spider's web of confusion, an investment in insanity, as if the need to present evidence of said growth far outweighs the very growth that ignited the search in the beginning. 

I often wonder how I became trapped in such a futile cycle of existence. Grow, outward display signs of growth, discover new issues, repeat the cycle, remain static.

Do I engage in this cycle to fill the hole in my soul with a depth that knows no end? Am I just scared of who I am, a simple product of my thoughts, actions and beliefs? 

Or am I just another victim of falsehood, believing that the person I truly am is not enough to be accepted by the greater world. By the people selling me the answers to the questions I never asked.  

Something is missing, and I think I know what it is!