At church I'm the rebel.
At work I'm the goody-goody.
To my coworkers I'm just a kid.
To my friends I'm an adult.
My trainer tells me I'm strong,
my scale tells me I'm weak.
The inside of my closet
and the outer layers of my skin are in a constant
battle
of who can be more
mature/fun/young/classic/fresh.
I refuse to change--
much less commit.
I stress things that define my progress
from a lost college student:
nail color
hair length
purse size
pant length.
And yet can't seem to decide on
what actually determines success:
permanent residence
resume quality
great credit
directions in any form-
I am not one to ask for them.
I am not one to ask for.
I am not one to ask.
(Never so lost)
I no longer know how to
be.
This is not another depressed blog post:
because it's friday night,
and every week leads to this
overwhelming moment of
disaster.
This is another person:
helpless to the pressure of
moving
while
staying completely still.
This is the worst possible place to be:
not left,
not right,
not up,
not down,
not great,
not horrible,
not satisfied,
not settling,
but in between.