What if what I’m doing
is for nothing?
What if there is
no
path?
Neither well-traveled,
or scarcely;
what if there is nothing--
not even woods.
I will have wasted
thousands of dollars.
Precious moments.
Years of my life
with fretting.
In my mind, it will
all work out.
A simple plan,
a simple
execution.
But life has a way
of never working out
the way I
I think
it will.
My story is laced
with epiphanies
and wisdom
from the universe.
I truly believe
she speaks
and I
listen.
But what if that’s
just crap
I invented
to have
a purpose?
To feel
special,
important,
alive?
What if I’m
nothing
but a fountain
of nonsense?
It’s not that
I can’t do this.
I feel certain
it is what
I’m meant
to
do.
I’m growing
weary
from
battle.
If only my
parents weren’t
supportive.
Or my husband
forbade me.
(That would
only encourage
me, probably).
But it’s only
the cowering
girl inside
that stops
me cold
in my
tracks.
Every word I
write is with
a jittery hand.
Deadlines loom
and I’m
gasping.
Anxieties are
plucking away
at any sense
of purpose
I’ve ever
felt.
I’ve never truly been brave.
But I’ve also never truly
felt alive
until now.
But what if
that’s
not
enough?
What if
there lurks
in the deep, blue
well of my
being
nothing—
nothing special
at all?
What will become
of me?
Who will I
be?
I looooove this!!!!!!!!
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