I’m a piece of shit.
I don’t call my grandmother back. I constantly lie to my parents.
I scamper past mirrors to avoid an existential crisis. I always promise myself to be healthier ‘next week;’ but I end having a feast, or nothing at all.
Sometimes my lover goes untouched for days because I’m trapped in a carousel that’s spinning with stress, anxiety and self-doubt. I tend to lean on my grandiose dreams of becoming ‘someone,’ but I have trouble coming to terms with my limitations. Meanwhile, my partner is in bed, dreaming of an endless embrace and tender eyes.
Late at night, a light emerges from my computer and summons me to my trial.
I sit down to write.
This time, I’ll find the right words to validate my existence. In one sentences, I’ll realize that my feet belong on the same ground that everyone else walks upon.
But it’s four in the morning and nothing is coming out…
Words pour out of me like a roaring cascade, or I’m a drought praying for clarity and universal truths.”