please don't stop me
from being a dreamer
an idealist
a critic

i need those parts of me,
a sense of purpose in
a
   confused navigation of my twenties

i am sorry i am not
what you thought i would be,
grateful and desperate for an organised life,

actually,
no i'm ******* not.

what should i believe in?
could it be religion,
a thing i was raised with,
but now i question,
ironically,
religiously.

what do i believe in?
could it be in nothing,
and no-one,
thinking that we are
mere mortals,
and there is nothing for us after this.

what can i believe in?
when the god i have been told
loves us all,
shuts out so many people,
for their wants,
their desires,
their love

what is left to believe in?
i guess only myself,
and what a terrible
terrible weight
that feels.

i'm scared
that its all gonna fall apart
me and you
fall apart at the seams
because you and i
are never in the same place

it used to annoy me
how much you wanted me
all the time; as though i was a new toy

guess i was right about that
because now you're too tired to even ask

i'm scared
that we could be over
i don't want us to be over
but i
can't keep the grey out
much longer.

we are all held together
by little tiny seams,
bound together with the lightest touch,
yet somehow,
resilient

it's funny how
quickly we are all overwhelmed
by boys and girls and love
and lust
and how quickly
it threatens our fragile self.

I often wonder what it would feel like,
to just loosen
my grip on reality, on myself, on how I feel,
how freeing it must be,
to unbound at the seams.

tell me
why am i waiting on you
waiting for you
to come back
to love me fully
to hold me

let me know
when you'll be coming home
and home is of course not a place
but is simply just with me

tell me
are we ever gonna be on the same page again?
whether it's dogs or cats or fighting wars
will we ever fight for the same thing?

oh please
tell me
will you ever be ready to listen
or is this dream
has this dream
run it's course
and i
am obselete once more ?