I don’t know what to call this. Some sort of combination between free writing and free verse. Poetic free writing? Does that make sense? Either way, it’s a mess, like myself right now. So much is going on and I’m in zero control. All I can do is buckle up. The journey hasn’t been easy and it will only get harder. For the most part, things haven’t been good lately. I’ve had some nice moments, but the don’t seem to last as long as I’d like them to. I don’t know why they don’t. But I’ll continue to hope they do. What else can I do?
I’m Ready, Are You?
I’m tired of talking to those
who want me to feel better
about why I don’t, and what I can do
to be the person of my dreams.
Instead, I want to simply be happy,
happy with myself, with what I do,
happy with you.
I want to stay true to who I am.
I don’t just want these things;
I need them.
I need to sit on the beach
and collect my thoughts.
I want you to be there with me,
in my arms,
your head on my chest,
nothing to say, nothing to be said.
I want to share a moment with you
but the moment never ends.
Instead, I think about myself,
what’s going wrong: everything.
I struggle every day to believe
I’m not worthless,
that I deserve to be happy.
I live for others, for you.
Without you, I don’t know what to do,
And the problem is
I don’t know who you are yet.
Every time I think I know,
I realize how little I’ve experienced,
and there’s no way for me to know
what the future has in stock.
Who is ready to step up and join me?
Is it selfish of me to believe that I can be happy?
I can’t be the only one hoping for honesty.
But hope is always in the background,
the family friend you forgot,
but knows you better than you do
even after all these years.
I can’t shake hope.
I hope that one day,
my hopes become reality.
My hope is you become my reality.
I hope to live for you,
die for you,
and you will do the same for me.
I hope you show up sooner
rather than later.
I’m tired of the anxiety attacks,
I’m tired of feeling depressed.
I’m ready to move forward,