Sometimes, I write poetry.
***
I’ve been having an existential crisis day today.
One of those 'anxiety keeps me up at night & depression keeps me in bed all day' days.
One of those 'I work(ed) my ass off and for what?' days.
I was lied to as a youth, fuck the rose colored glasses days.
I try not to live with regrets about choices I’ve made, but they’re glaring at me today days.
I just want something to call my own.
To validate working my fingers to the bone.
This is not the life I thought I’d lead or where I’d be.
Halfway through, on an aimless mission
Adrift on a sea of debt and well-intentioned decisions
Barely hanging on and hiding behind a guise of perfectionism,
Paddling furiously
Exhausted.
But I must continue.
Must stay busy.
Must occupy every precious moment of my time.
Because if I stop moving
Stop thinking
Stop working
Stop trying to claw my way out.
.
.
.
I will surely drown.