the end

i should feel accomplished having written 31 poems
but i actually feel bad
knowing that a month has gone by
and i don't know what to do with the remaining 11.

i feel so much pressure
to do something else
i'm told to do something i want to do
but it has to be something that will secure a better future

the better future is the future i'm happy with
not the one that will bring economic comfort

not that money isn't something i want
but it should be about profiting from something i'll be happy to share with the world
or just do myself
though what makes me happy is making people laugh

i also want to be loved
i've fallen in love so many times this month
only to discover that there's no reciprocation
and that hurts

i guess what i need is a for someone to give me a chance
in all aspects
and i need to put myself out there as well
i won't be discovered until i've been seen, as crazy/sensible as that seems.

i wish my last poem hadn't been a confessional
i kind of wanted to simply say
"be with me"
but i can only be mysterious for so long