The Exisential Crisis that is Time

As I think to myself

Last Year?

Irrelevant

Boring

Not real.

Not Real as in

Time.

Not Real as in

Did I really overdose on anxiety meds?

Accidentally,

 of course.

 

Of course Time is real. Last year, I cried

Fourty four nights. Sometimes in the arms of my now

Ex- boyfriend. Yet these nights were usually alone.

 

Last year, 365 days ago, I threw a bottle into the ocean with my

Aching heart written all on a piece of paper

Yelling, screaming and fighting down to the bottom of how

My dad had to just up and

Die

 a year before that.

Last year, I found myself driving

A little too fast and

A little too angry for somebody

Who got hit on by another somebody who was twice her age.

 

Last year, I watched as the tides moved and wondered

Just how could something so beautiful

End

So. Many. Lives.

Am I just as beautiful and treacherous? Do I make men crumble

With my touch and then leave them when they ache for more?

Do I make my brothers proud with how successful I am in school

Just to disappoint them again that I really don’t know what I’m doing

 or where I want to go or what I’m doing with all of

My Time?

Do I do this?

                      Do I do this Still?

 

365 Days ago. Last year.

Am I still doing right with my time?

Is this right?

 

Or am I now feeling happy again. Feeling triumphant

Feeling accomplished because I know that I don’t need boys or men or guys who are kinda sort men

To validate me. To please me or expect me to please them.

Can I now say that I feel ok with my singing and now know that it’s

Not melancholic or sad or breaking my mom’s heart anymore?

Is it fine for me to recognize that I am flawed yet beautifully made

Exactly where I need to be and exactly doing what I should be doing

Not by God’s grace and not by the professor that says that I should be doing more

But

By Me.

 

Today

In what is, now, I smile. I smile so bright that the people who told me that

My dreams are too big for somebody of the likings of me are now seeing another girl who

Can. And Will. And Does.

That I am not another girl from the suburbs who will accept her fate

As being somebody who is complacent and will be ok with what

Was. About a year ago.

Around 365 days ago

It’s

Different. I’m different.

 

I think so…

                      I think.

 

 

My question now is with Time. Yes, Father Time himself.

If I am so much more improved since

365 days. This time last year.

When is your Time going to come?

 

 

 

 

This poem is about: 
Me
My family
My country

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