As a young adult who is nearing her strictly adult future, I am still trying to find the time to be present and engaged. While my time is ramping up, people my age are following adventurous paths that will guide them through a seemingly happy life. How are we to judge that? For me, I feel as though I’m walking along a dirt road to a foggy destination, and what awaits me is fear and destruction. We often believe these concepts to intertwine, creating a brutal ending that is unlikely to ever be repaired. This causes the common foe of anxiety to fill my stomach and my lungs. My future is waiting to be released from my grasp, but I truly fear that I will never be ready to let it go. While it’s important to want a future in order to create one, I’m afraid that I lack the skill to do what needs to be done. I love to swim in the deep end of the lake, but metaphorically I am bound to the shallow entry overlooking a possible outcome, yet never letting the water overflow my head, revealing that my true future may as well be underwater, swimming alone with the algae.
im not afraid to stare at myself in the mirror
im not afraid to believe in something i don’t have
im not afraid of the harsh reality
im not afraid of cutting my clothes
im not afraid of confessing
i am not afraid
whenever i take a substantially long break away from writing i feel like i’ve abandoned my heart in the middle of a grassy field
three months later and the trees are naked
three months later and my hair is a faded shade of auburn
three months later and i’ve learned the basics on conversing through sign language
three months later and my ears have heard fresh tunes that keep me up at night
three months later and my room is filled with colored lightbulbs
three damn months later, i am 22 years old, and this year is almost gone
see you for the next even year
by Robert Creeley
The words are a beautiful music.
The words bounce like in water.
loud in the clearing
off the boats,
They look for a place
to sit and eat—
people enjoy thunderstorms because the sky is creating a light show, the rain makes a trickling sound that roars into their ears, the thunder wakes them, catches their attention. it’s a performance, a scientific production: the sky is doing something different.
maybe i’m not a fan because of childhood, because the police knocked on my door from mom and dad fighting too loud, almost in tune with the thunder outside.
or maybe it’s because i appreciate the simple, blue, quiet sky. how the trees lightly sway but are kept dry, content. maybe i love those silent moments, in between the inevitable chaos.
when quotes that are supposed to be casual yet powerful say shit like “nothing matters” and everybody is like “damn, deep shit” fuck them.
your shit matters.
maybe we exist in a rotating sphere, but everything you’re saying, everything you’re going through, it fucking matters.
that boy who didn’t text you back, who made you cry? it matters.
that dress you got red wine all over? how it made you annoyed? it matters.
why are people obsessed with giving the entire planet no meaning?
just because death is inevitable? just because everything can end any second?
that means every single thought and emotion doesn’t actually mean anything?
i’m not okay with that.
there are good ones
and I’m thinking about them
and they’re thinking about me
they’re strangers but temporarily mine
our minds are inside each other
believing in a truth that seems impossible
what if we meet
what if we become one
will it ruin us
i don’t want to be
found this in my drafts from 8 months ago