My mind is a clock. The second-hand moves
the fastest as it is trying to keep up with my worries
and anxiety. All of my: what-ifs, maybes, how
about, and if so then.

The minute hand or the hand of anticipation;
it ticks slowly and feels like I am waiting a lifetime.
The drive for self-preservation is there, but
I must find it on my own. If you cannot love yourself
then other love will not feel genuine.

The hour hand is a different story. The hand sits
and waits for everything to collaborate. Collaboration
has to be perfect for the whole mind to work.
Perfection is a myth. So now I am stuck waiting
for everything to fall into place.
Sadly, my second hand is telling me that
nothing will be okay.

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Key Words : mind, self, clock, doubt

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This Poems Story

I have been going through a lot lately this year,2021. So, one day I just started writing about how I was feeling. This poem was a way to put my thoughts and feelings down without talking to anybody else.