it's so inept to struggle with the
where-i-should-be, should i be
wanting the courtship and the sex and the bare feet
on cold kitchen floors in the morning,
when i am already yearning for the
sunday morning sunshine,
the depth of understanding that is years of love
and circles of families expanding--
should there be guilt for that,
or merely stress for lack of expansion?
the violence of post-adolescence
in this world, where there are so many passions
and cares and weights that wear:
an endless search for the median between
sugary cereals and varicose veins,
where do you and i
find each other, where do we begin
in the mornings and where do we end up
at night? there should be mourning,
there should be peace, there should be
an ability to let go, there should be.
there is only me, and
growing up turning into growing older,
and decisions that become weighted
but are valued as weightless.