I can only wish to check off something from my
endless lists that create the illusion of success.
What will it be today?
My week old math homework due in the next hour
or adding another item to my list?
The second is the one I choose
because doing means mistakes,
planning means covering up my last ones.
Far too often the piles cascade too high
I can't see the top of who I am
even though I chose each object,
each emotion,
and each action.
I can't understand the tip of the iceberg though
The first time the words touched my ears
I sobbed,
stricken on the ground.
The second time,
I cried
and was inconsolable.
The third time
My existence is not for others
it does not heal the wounded
my words are costume, foam steel at most.
I exist to live a life that continues the cycle
I'm a mirror of society that has painted
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