Shifting Slowly

What am I doing it all for if everything I write  remains in the dark?
If the messages I receive I keep to myself? They're doing no good up here and definitely no good on this scrap of paper.
The messages are for now. Not for when my child finds them one day in an old box, tucked away in a closet.
Everyday it seems like the same quest with no actual map
I know where I want to go, just not how
Or how and not why
Or why and not now
It's such a fucked up way this head works sometimes
The constant self-motivation is exhausting
The reminders of doing this first or that first and then this and then that
When I really just want to do this
This very thing I know I was gifted
The gift of placing pen to paper and writing out words meant for you
So in my daily struggle, that is the only solace I hold on to
Knowing that it's for you
The one as broken as me
That needs to hear these words
That finds them randomly one day, while skimming a book and landing right on this page
Knowing that yes, this is your sign
This message is for you
These words are being written for you
And it's in that, I find the strength
To get up from my lazy ways
To get up from the lies I tell myself about being enough 
And I place the pen to paper to tell you these words