Strange feelings swim inside me,
confusing and alert.
Prodding me to make a move;
assume, affirm, assert.

Yet these tones only arise
within the realm of me.
I'm building solid structures
from only misery.

Misery imagined
Misery, elusive
Why do I question everything
being inconclusive  

Like happiness backfiring
scrutinizing itself
to pick apart perfection
and pity all the wealth

To find a problem buried
where graves have not been laid
and ravish in the thinking
I should be getting paid

I'll sit and whisper to myself
I should be getting more
of everything completely
as if love is but a chore

He tells me things I know.
The things my heart is saying.
Why does the mind escape the heart
all certainty decaying?

But he is right
and I am wrong
I love all of this man.
Expectation kills livelihood
He does everything he can

Overthinking hurts
when none of it is true.
We cannot build reality,
fake disappointment--brewed.

So holding hands with him
and I love you's ARE enough.
The feeling IS the knowing.
Uncertain, true and tough.