The Impression.
The constant desire
to fit an image,
have success,
be perfect,
is unattainable.
These standards,
overwhelming,
emotionally taxing.
I fear failure.
In the eyes of who?
Myself.
I am my harshest critic.
A critic as emotionally
and physically devastating
as a natural disaster
that creates irreversible damage
for generations.
Yet,
I continue to run.
But why?
I am chasing passion,
but I don’t know where to find it.
This never-ending chase prevents me from seeing it.
Those around me feel it,
see it,
but their actions hurt,
unknowingly.
I feel a slap against my face
as people pry
and ask what I do.
I feel this slap
because the truth is,
I do nothing,
I hardly love myself.
It is obvious.
I love others first,
and too much, at that.
I become needy
and dependent
and drive those I care about away.
This isn’t healthy.
How can it be okay?
How do I change,
when I feel so lost.
