Undefining the defined.
I have been wanting to write something,
its been so long,
its not just a phase,
because its not ending,
I am running after something,
something that people term as success,
failing to describe it,
butterflies all day long,
I have found myself as worthy of it,
but the wait does not seem to prove it,
inhaling the taunts and burden,
Realized many things,
pressure, is so normal,
criticism, is so normal,
standing on the edge, is so fucking normal.
Clear on the thought of success doesn't come overnight,
I want to assure myself, if i am capable of it
maybe I chose the wrong path,
maybe the desire to become the person is unlikely
maybe the un-conventional way to earn money is not very accepting,
and all these maybe sound true,
I might want to ask my future self,
should I?
if not success, then a compelling life,
a scheduled free life,
without pressure,
without people ordering,
without one’s mess.
I find myself unworthy of these maybes.
curating an existence, I am content towards a better maybe.
