Utopia

I kept writing with the well-rehearsed hand Knowing how much space to leave. But when I lifted my hand  To remove strands of hair from my face I knew not where to put my pen Like when you join a school  In the middle of the year. I learnt to use my left hand to fix my hair And escape the discomfort Of feeling lost.  Emotions began flowing out, I began pouring them carelessly. Not realising that there was a width That was stagnant  And I had reached the edge. It took the darkness to open my eyes To the limits of the page. And then I wrote and I wrote  In the middle of the pages Racing with my thoughts. In the dark.