I guess I’ve experienced too much of life to care about it.
When people ask me questions about how I’m doing, I’m not responding.

I really don’t give a **** about what I should or shouldn’t be doing.
I’ve done enough, life’s done enough.
Please spare me those ideas about “manifesting”.
Just another way of controlling.
Life will be unfolding itself.
I’m just a spectator trying to make it worth it.
Worth being a part of the show, making myself look the way I want to.

I guess part of me always knew what I didn’t care for.
And what I did find important.
Too important because I can’t get it perfect.
But I learn to bargain, I’m still bargaining.
Daily for the way I want things.

Give me the music and the *****.
The bed that feels nice.
The man that cares.
Are the other feelings not just inside me?
A reflection of my own longing.
Never reciprocated or barely.
Not here.