How do I know I’m who I want to be,
and not who you want me to be?
How do I see myself as a solitary individual,
when I’m a number in billions?
How do I know I’m doing it right?
Why do I always want to be doing it right?
How do I make meaning of this life when all I can seem to do is live in a way that merely hopes to suffice for those who came before me?
How do I make meaning of this life when I live in my own capitalistic world, and millions of people starve and labor for the chance at a meal, the chance of cover from the coming storm..
How can I live for something when people kill over nothing.
Growing tired as evil eyes encourage my silence.
How can I live in truth?
How can I know that who I am is enough?
That the art I make is enough?
How will I know this journey is worth while?
How do I move when it feels like I’m stuck in this moment? Frozen in time. Frozen in fear.
How can I be enough?
How could I have been too much?
“Just show up”
How can I be myself when showing up feels like a parade to be witnessed.
A show to be critiqued.
It feels like parts of my soul are lost in translation.
Lines redacted, I prune and I prune.
Cutting away at myself
I try to tend my garden for you
