I look around at what I see and wonder if this is me or if its everyone. Where did I misstep, where did I go wrong, how could I lead so far astray. I can’t help but see how it can’t be them so logically it must be me. Oh, what does this mean?
Am I not where I wanted, hoped, should, or am suppose to be. Now what do I do? Thinking back only pains the part of me that feels I had a chance, still have a chance.
The noise, it indicate a sound, a though, and notion traveling not through space, but social space. The weight it carries shan’t be metered in frequencies, amplitudes, or modulation but in tone, theme, and weight. We look not at what is thought but what it done, and not whats already been done but whats going to be done, and hasn’t even been started yet.
I’m good at some of what I do, not what I need to do, but how I need to do. I think.
I am no poet.