Today brings living and routine.
Some find comfort and serene in that.
I wish I could be like that.
Act as if I'm content with what I had or what I'm getting.
Unfitting am I to be a lover, and someday even a mother.
I feel rigid, unable to form into the being I'm meant or sought out to be.
Oh, just help me.
Shape me into that person, that functional individual, whom puts the past in the past and saves something for the arriving future.
Teacher, there has to be a lesson I skipped, or a demonstration I possibly missed, because this really shouldn't be all that hard.
Loving should come natural and easy, caring should be automatic, drifting should come with more time.
Fast, too fast. It's like I'm in a race, to see if I can crash the hardest, feel the most without letting anyone in to really know.
I was a normal child, wasn't I?
Bright with optimism.
Individualism, existentialism, that's what I've enlisted myself in.
Dark, not really running from death, but greeting it with a kiss and a invitation.
Limitations, always some lurking, searching, to make you become aware of the failure that's consumed you.
© Copyright 2016 Kathleen Megquier. All rights reserved.
Book / Literary Fiction
Poem / Poetry
Poem / Poetry
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