Maybe I want to fall in love,
perhaps it is true.
Even being plagued with self-doubts
and typical well-placed criticisms,
I still think I could offer someone
something.
I can, right?
If I can keep my head from tumbling
from my laden shoulders, and
my anxious tongue in
check within my cheek,
I can love someone. Fully,
and selflessly.
But as I sense a step down
to new roads,
I feel my stride has not
changed, and the scenery will
only remain different for a small time.
Possibly, even, my gait has become
worse because of the hurry I am in.
I want to run, I'm encumbered
with ideas I must be free
of, and only so many days
before I return again
to my pit.