I worry.
That’s what I do.
It scares me,
on occasions.
Sometimes it gets too much
for just me to handle.

I worry.
It’s what I do.
Nothing can help
when it gets really bad,
and the skies turn gray,
joy fades away,
jokes turn sour,
and memories are just that.
In the past.

Sometimes I pace,
back and forth,
going over my work on more time,
just to see if it’s perfect,
back and forth,
finding little misconceptions,
working towards a better goal,
back and forth,
grasping onto anything real,
anything so me.

Sometimes I go all
catatonic.
It’s unnatural.
Unprofessional.
When it happens,
I wonder,
where is all this negativity coming from?
Me?
You?
Who?
It’s hazy and foggy up ahead,
but if you come with me
we can make it through together.

Together.
I like the sound of that.
It means as a whole,
a group,
people who you can learn to trust,
to like,
to love.

So life is like a maze.
Twisting and turning,
up and down,
back and forth,
side to side,
doing one-eighties off rails.
Life is hard to handle.
It’s not meant to be done alone.

Alone.
Being alone makes it harder.
Harder to breath,
harder to sing,
harder to be.

As for my life,
you can say it’s been updated.
Out with the old,
and in with the new.

But that young little me still holds a place,
a place trapped within me,
reaching for a way out,
pushing through the troves of people,
yanking aside the two glass doors,
the ones you pushed when they said pull.

There is a part of you,
a part that longs to be younger,
a mere child with the friends you have now,
or the memories you wanted to make.
I wish I could go back,
sometimes,
and be little again.
When everything would be alright,
and when I never let the bedbugs bite.

But life moves on.
You live on.
And now, so must I.

It’s hard to imagine
a life without love,
because a life without love,
is a full life wasted.
It isn’t worth living.
At least,
not until you find something to love.

To be.
To see.
To strive for.

So take some chances.
Go for that updated life,
because one way or another,
you won’t be here forever.