Sep 2013
I tried to stop thinking.
Maybe I was losing my identity; maybe what I ought to worry about, I decided, was where I was heading. What did I want to be, and who did I want to be with?
Both questions began to depress me.
The trouble is, I wonder if I really feel something, or if I imagine that I feel something. And if I really feel things, why am I always wondering if this is the way things really feel?
Maybe I was losing my identity; maybe what I ought to worry about, I decided, was where I was heading. What did I want to be, and who did I want to be with?
Both questions began to depress me.
The trouble is, I wonder if I really feel something, or if I imagine that I feel something. And if I really feel things, why am I always wondering if this is the way things really feel?
This was a black out poem that I did in my freshman year workshop.
