I Won’t Publish This

Can I just say that I’m tired?
I don’t know what I’m doing or if an ending is right.
I’m frustrated.
Every aspect of my life is unsure.
Or rather, I’m unsure.
I’m falling into the trap of doing things on their terms.
Am I hiding something from myself with a million words a minute?
Maybe if I talk enough, I won’t notice
That something’s wrong.
I can’t tell what,
But something is getting to me.
If it’s a part of my life,
I promise things will change soon.
Give it a month, just wait and see.
Throw something at a wall in the meantime.
If it’s me that’s changing into this unsure person;
Even if it’s a part of me that’s buried at the bottom
And hidden around a corner
I will still know.
And since all of this is unclear to me,
I can’t fix it.
I can only wait.
That anxious feeling is back.
Will something happen?
That’s what it always means.
But if not this time, this anxiety,
Then something is turning in me.
And I’m not sure if I’ll get through it.

June twenty-eighth, two thousand and eight.