ᒪᑫᓯᐢ

runs through my fingers like water
  and I regret the past
  and the present 
  and the choices I locked myself into

what is a life but a series of hours blurring into days and years and decades
"waiting for someone or something to show you the way"

and they say it's never too late but
  but
  it's so hard to overcome the momentum of years
  habits I picked up not knowing how long they would last
  afraid to reach out, afraid to move forward

and some days are good!
and how can I be so callow, so shallow, when my problems are like feathers to the boulders of others
and even now I luxuriate in more time than most can imagine, free to —
— to

— what?
rest? recuperate?
explore? discover? create?
no; none of those —
too stuck in my head to use my boundless gifts and resources
  (and even now a voice cries out:
   narcissist! arrogant! privileged!)

"privileged" like it's a way of life
                             of thinking
a personal optimism and
a societal pessimism
that says "YOU are lucky at the expense of others" —


and some days are bad
  blank
  pages
  gone
  without
  marks
or white hot gashes across my memory
  scars I try to

  forget
  guess I'm a coward scared to face the man I am
and I NEED I WANT I HATE I I I
  don't know what to do

so I do nothing