I, on the other hand

I, on the other hand, am invulnerable

I feel no pain

I am not overly sentimental

nor do I have any long-lasting relationships

I drink before it’s 5 in the evening

and I write trashy poetry sitting on my bed after midnight.

 

I, on the other hand, am worried

I am worried that I am too distant

too scared, too much of all bad habits

I keep cancelling plans I should have made a decade ago

I keep acting like I am a 14 years old

I feel afraid to ask someone to trust me

I am worried that I am going to die alone

I am worried that one day I am going to run out of things to write about

and that day, I will have to worry

about my poetic inadequacies.

 

I, on the other hand, will keep writing.

 

1 thought on “I, on the other hand”

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