My day isn’t new.
None of my days are new.
I hope they’ll be different.
I intend to make them different.
But intentions are all I have.

I keep falling down
Into the same pit,
The same spot
Marked out with the roundness of my buttocks.

There is no new path
That I walk on.
There is no new song that I sing.

I make wishes
And I hope they come true.
I throw up short prayers
And kind of wonder
Whether or not they’re accepted,
Whether or not they’re good enough.

I repeat myself everyday
And become tiredĀ 
From running in circles,
But I never stop,
Not completely,
No matter how many times
I tell myself
That I should,
That I have to.

I think I’ll get tired of it
One day,
One day soon.
But for now
I’m not dead yet.
I’m not alive either,
But I haven’t stopped existing.

I keep thinking that with time
Everything will work itself out.
It probably will,
But I can’t see that,
And I don’t trust it.
I don’t think I’ll get better,
Not really.

I’ll just learn,
Like everyone else,
How to pretend,
How to smile and not mean it,
How to convincingly say
“I’m fine.”

I will.
I’ll learn.
I’ll learn how to be good.


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