Idle Weights & Lucid States Ⅱ

Time idles by, like hands on a clock

When — oh when

will I allow my life

to finally start?

Ready?

Set,

Wait.

One step forward,

three paces

smile in a halt.

It’s no use,

but still

I tell myself

“it’s your fault.”

Trading autonomy

for economy

structure just beyond my sight,

in the silence

it’s all too

easy

for my fears

to take flight.

“Don’t worry”

And yet, still,

my mind

frantic, in flurries.

Tears like rain

roll golden

off my face,

As I try telling myself

‘No, it’s not a race.”

Loud disappointments,

quiet yearning

in splatters,

I ought to know better—

but do my needs

still not matter?

“I’m so sorry,” unbeknownst to me

the weight of such indecision!

Tell me, please,

how best to materialize your vision?

Oh my,

decisions, decisions.

Time stands still,

like hands on a clock.

Is this when

my life will finally start?

“I’m so sorry, we love you.”

Consider these two options,

to us,

broken — you are not.