i think our greatest flaw
is that all of us try to be everything at the same time;

which, of course, is impossible.  

i guess it just finally became long enough
for me to realize that i'm done.

i'm not going to pretend
like i can juggle everyone else’s worlds
when i'm barely strong enough
to hold up my own.

i look at that girl and i wonder what she is thinking.

i wonder if she is happy,
or if she ever will be happy,
or if happiness is even a plausible thing anymore.

she doesn’t seem unhappy,
but even appearances can’t be trusted these days.

i search for clues in her darting eyes,
and her fidgeting hands,
and her eyebrows;
furrowing and unfurrowing incessantly
as if she can’t make up her own mind herself.

looking at that girl,
i can not even seem to realize that she is me.

it has come to my attention
just how much i am
at the mercy of those around me.

at any given moment,
without so much as a reason
or a warning,
i could be betrayed
or lied to
or abandoned
or killed
by anyone.

by a stranger or by a loved one or by myself or by anyone.

i am just so **vulnerable.

i’m done
with feeling numb;
like knowing you’re not good
but you’re not bad either.

i’m just
not sure
what to expect these days.

i need
some semblance of a beacon,
not just your roaring tides
beating incessantly against
the jagged shores.

you can’t
light a match,
then expect me
to hold the flame steady
against your violent winds.

don't ask me to do this
all over again.
don't ask me to
save you.

don't ask me to keep up.

rather,
throw me some fire;
at least i know it will burn.

for a girl
who says
she doesn’t really care
i probably do think too much

but only if i cared more
would i probably be able
to stop myself

you can see my dilemma.

i think
i am most worried
about f a d i n g  a w a y;
of forgetting
who i am
and where i am.
i am afraid to forget
why i wake up to the same muted sky
and eat the same tasteless cereal
and put on the same battered shoes
and stop at the same worn place in front of the same ***** window sill,
watching the same aged tree branches blow
and hearing the same songbirds chirp their relentless melodies.
i am afraid to forget
why i go the same places
and see the same faces
and breathe the same air,
marking time with each beat.
and i am terrified
of forgetting why it all
matters.