What is my purpose?
My meaning?
What am I doing here?
Who am I?

My feet are chapped
I could drink buckets of lemon water
Everyone circles and circles and repeats
Themselves
And talks of themselves
And talks of themselves
And wants and wants and wants

My dinner plate is
Green. Beige. Purple.

I sort of hate everything that is coming out of me
Its never good enough for
Or anyone.

I don't know.
I leap and grab the branches of my own self doubt
Been here for almost a year
And thousands of faces and pairs of eyes
Lips
Speak praise
And I don't really love myself right now.

And sometimes I'll think
What if I just gave it ALL up
And went to law school.