Happiness is a decision I am bad at making
because decisions make me anxious. Now it’s winter again,
and it’s the longest winter I have ever lived through,
as I move like fevered breath set against its backdrop,
I know a little more about the seasons now,
and I know about what they can mean to a person.
I still get lonely, so I take myself for frosty walks
where my mind clings to half-thoughts
before getting drunk again, but it’s nice
to talk when we’re not drunk or high.
I tried going crazy, but now a softer sadness
greets me with tears at the end of the day.
I could be seventeen again, seized by a desire to be
as close to everything as possible, where
music and people draw me outside of my room,
drowning deep thoughts that seem laughable now.
I have been many versions of myself.
I will not be the same person or repeat the past.
I have lots of dreams- oh you have your life
all figured out. But being home makes me reckless.
None of us do. We make it up as we go along.