I have dreams
Big ones
Small ones
Wet ones
I like to think that I’ll one day make something of myself
Be well known
Have a Wikipedia page
It is the millennial dream after all
But I can’t tell
If who I am and who I want to be
Exist in the same universe
I can’t tell if my life is backed by talent or delusion
And it scares me
Because I fear If you don’t know your true talents
That you don’t know yourself
BTW
I hate writing poetry
I think it’s bougie
And self-indulgent
Which is strange because I’m self-indulgent
I guess I just have an issue
With making things appear more beautiful than they actually are
I’m uncomfortable at the thought of calling a forest Emerald
When you could just say fucking green.
I do like that it has no rules
If I wanted
I could just write a list of fruits
And someone could find meaning in it
I guess you can find meaning in anything
If you try hard enough
But that requires effort
Which is the millennial nightmare
Thinking about the future terrifies me
It causes my throat to close up
Like anaphylactic shock
Yes
I had to google it
If only life had an EpiPen®
To make things bearable
But that would be too easy
And God’s a bitch.
