these days make me forget what’s important. make me
forget who i am.
[this thing they call real life is trying, you know.]
because there is a me buried
beneath my life. i keep getting lost in this season. in these minutes
and hours and days. i can’t find myself beneath all the
and presentations and photo
assignments and classes and errands and bills and production nights and
and hebrew tests and piles of laundry and interviews and groceries and emails and philosophy.]
but all of this isn’t me. me is buried somwhere under this
existence: screaming, struggling to get out. but it seems every time i fight my way to the surface, i’m
pushed back down again. so i’m scared, you see. scared i’ll never learn to live.
scared i’ll spend my entire existence-i-call-life just fighting for the next breath.
i am alive, you know.
and sometimes i remember:
i’m more than
what i want to be;
more than who i’m trying to be, even.
but then again, maybe i’m not.
or maybe i’m not even what matters.
maybe it’s not me thats buried under this existence;
maybe it’s him.
maybe it’s him that gets lost in this excuse for a life.