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poetry

The Future

I don’t know what the future holds.

I just hope it’s quiet

And holds a little more peace

Right now, I’m in pieces

Scattered across the present and the future

Present quickly becoming past

Hindering progress

“That was yesterday’s news”

“What’s new today?”

What holds true today?

What’s in view today?

Because I feel like I’m looking years ahead

And not seeing these ones here at all

I feel like I’m stuck in my head

Lying in bed

Feels like a pause

A comma between the clause of

“If I get a future”

And

“When I’m perfect”

Perfection has led me in a downward direction

Spiraling my thoughts

Tiring my heart

I don’t know where to start.

Do I quit my job? My school? My classes?

Do I give myself free passes on skipping work?

Do I work myself down to the bones and wonder when I’ll have no marrow

To harrow out from the inside

Pride is a terrible thing.

It holds as a good name for what it brings

But I don’t think it’s pride that made me work

It’s fear.

Fear that I don’t deserve to be here

That I can’t survive if I don’t strive for something better

And greater

And faster

And later

When I’ve done all that I can and achieve all that I could

I’ll wonder then,

Was my future really any good?

***

Apologies for my hiatus. I lost my sense of time, and when I regained it work just didn’t allow for poems. I wrote this one awhile ago, but I enjoy it immensely. I hope you do too.

By griffalice

A poet, an artist, and an explorer.

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