My Honest Poem

I trip up when I see that people are disengaging

I get bored easily especially when the text convos get dry

I am guilty of not loving myself enough to be intentional in making the time to self-reflect

I am complacent in some areas but am too scared to admit it

I have lost zeal and the thing is I don’t know why - but I want it back…or do I?

I believe I am capable but reality right now tells a different story

I compare my relationships in quantity and quality way too much to others

I avoid at times because the present is sometimes to hard to drink and swallow

I don’t feel like I have something true and steady with God

I am afraid of losing all or any of what is precious to me

I feel like I should be more busy

I have dreams that want to see the day of light and I believe some I’ve forgotten

I wonder how people see me 

I wonder why I can’t remember and recall well

I wonder why I take life for granted

I wonder why I am not doing anything, well I am - but I mean more

I fear that I won’t be an engineer

I hate not feeling smart enough

I am reciting words to myself that aren’t resonating and if they are they don’t have long term impact

I have a hard time reading people and always assume the worst

I imagine that if I were a full time poet I would seek the snaps just like how now I seek approval

I am guilty, I know, I am working on it…or am I just saying I am

I want things to change but can only fancy the vision of what I could be and how it feels so far away

I heard that its going to be a long road but I think I’m worth it to keep going

I’d like to say more about myself that is good & true but there are limits that I haven’t gotten past yet

I am a song the musician is doubtful to sing in front of her audience, a cry that is way too hard to ignore, and a shovel that is getting tired of digging

 

I am tired of digging

I am real tired of digging

I have carved out resemblances of gold - but not gold itself

Praying to God for the strength to keep going and the power to believe that I will find it 

When is enough enough?

When can I start over?

Is it too late?

Will I be more than my young self expected?

 

These broken pieces need more than just glue 

I think they need restoration and redemption.

These white bones need a bigger reason to keep me up.

I think they need one more ounce of hope that I won’t let them down

 

They say honesty is a good antidote.

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But I just think its the first step in finding your way back home.

I'm trying to find my way back home

And if we bump into eachother along the road, I ask that you be honest with me and point me in the right direction.

This poem is about: 
Me

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