Everybody

Asks me what I’m doing and I shrug and

Give them a foggy answer that sounds like

A thunderstorm trying to be quiet and they smile like

They know what I mean

When they can’t possibly because

I don’t know what I mean and

Everybody

Turns to me and asks

“So I heard bits and peices of what happened, but can you tell me the story yourself?”

And so I give them my memorized brief synopsis of my series

Of personal tragedies and then end it with a shrug and a

“Oh well, you live, you learn” type statement

And they laugh and look away because

They know I’m just saying that to make myself feel better.

I find myself clinging to little vestiges of control by

Keeping up with what’s going on in other people’s lives because

Everyone has got their **** together and I guess

By surrounding myself with people who have their **** together

I’m testing the waters to see if I will become

A ****-together-kind-of-person which ends up being

An altogether futile endeavour.

All I can ever do, really, is be successful at admitting defeat

And somehow carry on

Despite how undeserving I feel of all

That is good around me.