I’m not sure whether I’m doing well
or doing wrong
but I’m starting to accept
that I’m doing okay
I’m not sure whether I want
my head full of poetry
or empty of worries
to have both seems preposterously optimistic
I try to watch the words as they come
welcome them and then
wave them off
hello angst, oh hi inferiority, hey guilt, back so soon?
In moments of clarity I am able
to make my peace with them
and for the rest, it’s either shallow breaths
or writing poems