I’m different now, better than I used to be.
Strange how life used to mean an endless grind to find purpose,
a morbid circus of bitterness and pain
but day by day it’s easier to tame those feelings.
Or maybe I’m the same.
Still reeling from choices I made when thoughts had to travel
further to get from my mind to my brain.
I’ve retained a propensity to hate change.
Maybe I’m worse than I’ve ever been.
I seem to have grown only more cynical over time.
Negativity blinds any good in my work,
Life’s reason and rhyme sometimes lost to me.
In the end, if you skin away the broken promises,
if you dial back the incessant smarts,
I live for the art of being alive
dreaming big and giving my all even when it all seems small.
Maybe I’ll never be better, but I can always be hopeful.
Life is hard, unpredictable and constant (until you die). As someone who loves to be in control, I’ve always struggled with the fact that regardless of my best efforts, bad things will still happen to me and those I care about. That despite how hard I try, I will say and do things that hurt those I love and maybe they’ll decide they’re no longer capable of loving me back. Despite the bad things about me and life; some of which I’m acutely aware will never really go away, I prize hopefulness above a lot of the human virtues. You have to truly believe things will get better and work towards that, even when circumstance presents the opposite.
If you liked this piece follow for more weekly poetry.