I seemed to have lost the map that directed me to you long ago,
I take turns down random streets to try to find you.
I see memories of us laughing as I drive around this town,
trying to find my way into your good graces,
back into your heart.
I don't know what happened or when it did but something changed,
I opened the windows as I flew down the street and the map sailed out the window.
I didn't realize until it was too late.

I am afraid.
Of what I don't know,
of the feelings I haven't felt,
and of the people that I've never met.

I am afraid.
There is evil everywhere.
Kindness is rare.
Even under my rooftop,
mercy is never shown.

I am afraid.
To hurt those who have hurt me.
To protect myself when necessary.
When do you deem an act as self defense?

I am afraid.
I have never lost anyone,
only emotionally, never physically.
Death touches everyone eventually.

I am unafraid.
I seek change as I venture into the unknown.
I plan only the basics of my future,
go into everything open minded,
hope that the right path is led to me.

I am still searching.
I am afraid.
Of finding nothing
and wandering aimlessly.

I don't know where it ends.
I can't picture myself without you,
but I don't know how I can keep you in the picture.
I can't imagine ever calling it quits,
saying the past year was wasted,
saying we never want to see each other again.
I can't imagine life without your house around the corner from mine,
but I know that it will happen soon.
I can't imagine life without you to hold,
but I know forever isn't real,
the end is closer than we think.

I'm surrounded by a world of pretentious posers.
They hide behind the title 'hipster'
They don't hide behind brand names,
they hind behind thrift store clothing,
they call themselves authentic.
How can you be authentic when you take the ideas of others,
change a few words,
and call it your own?
I am surrounded by a world of posers,
wondering if I should submit and head to the nearest thrift store.
I am trying to figure out who I am,
find myself in everything I see,
figuring out what I like and what I don't.
I don't know where I am.
I read the poetry of Plath and feel like we share similar thoughts.
I am not Plath, I cannot be Sylvia,
I won't end my life with my head in an oven.
I am not depressed,
at least I don't think I'd call it depressed.
I don't know what I am,
I can't label it.
When I try I am afraid to,
I dont want fall under the category of pretentious poser,
but I am afraid that's where I am headed.