What am I, if not this?

commuter commuting late lost
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I think a lot about running away these days into whatever wilderness that will take me. I think about burning the books I’ve journaled in to hide sins. I think too much about how to escape those who love me and their tears when I depart. It’s as if I’ve died. I think about how I’m going to survive paying rent. I have already collected the bones of my hopes. I will struggle. I’ve thought about struggling there is no perfect way to avoid it. All of my plans have been stolen. To survive on rice and beans alone? I think about not signing the lease and staying at home. Getting back to the burning rooms. At least my mother’s home. I often think about having children but I can’t afford any. I tell my body to wait.

I think too much about saving myself, I’ve recounted the same numbers. What am I learning? Jesus god why am I here? Tonight, I can’t sleep because I’m broke and I bought a bed from Casper I can’t afford. The ghosts continue to spook me. I bought a that it will take me two years to pay off. Marie said I could bring my bed, but where’s the lease? I should lose her number and hold on to mother. I think about the cat I’m about to leave. I am her human mother. I rescued her.

Being young has left me with four roads in my way. I think about graduate school. But then I envision disappearing in the woods and never coming back to the family I left. I think about the loans and the city I’d leave waiting and roommates who to spend extra for HBO.

I think about how I’m tired of talking about my mother.  How if only she would stop entertaining the devil I could go home. I could save the rent money for graduate school. I could replace anxiety with rest. I think about moving out without my sister and it breaks my heart that I broke the pact. I think about how I thought my home life was normal until I finally spent the night somewhere else.

I don’t think enough about my father and his age. I don’t think much about how I can’t make sure he lives longer. I don’t think about how he’s going to Jamaica and how I may never be able to go on a trip with him in this life time.  I don’t think enough about how my mother loves me or how she doesn’t realize that I cry about her.

I don’t think enough about perfection not existing. I don’t think about letting go of anything. I don’t think enough about if God has a list of demands and if I’m up next. I don’t think enough about what happens to my mother when she ages more with all of her ailments. I don’t think enough about being a good daughter. I didn’t know my mom had diabetes until we were in the emergency room because I’m always at work and don’t ask what the pills are for. I don’t think enough about what I’ll do if plan c fails.

I think too much about what life would have been like if mom actually went to therapy when I took her. What do I mean? What am I supposed to learn, where do I put the weight of these memories? Why do I still think the pain will end after I pack the last box?

I think too much about my mentor and how she wants me to travel and leave my boyfriend behind. She says if love is meant to be it will be. I don’t believe that for a minute. Where am I supposed to go, when I don’t trust me to be alone with myself? I started thinking about how the sky disappoints me when it’s gray.

I don’t think too much about if love really lasts forever but feel like I should. How can I know today if a year really becomes twenty? How can I let myself in on something I can’t sense? That’s my problem with this life none of it comes out and declares itself. I know nothing. Life forgets to remind me where I am going.


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