The Truth About My Future

The truth about my future
is that I am an unsure.
I am a speeding train
but I can’t see the turn.
I can’t see the fork in the rails.
I can’t see who is controlling the switch.
All I know is that it is not me,
I am not the conductor

The future is unsure.
I can’t handle that.
I can’t relinquish control.
Too many things have happened
I hadn’t foreseen.
I am scared,
anxiety ridden,
on the slide back to depression.
The constant nagging
reminding me
I am not god.

“Make a plan”
But what if I can’t?
What if as the ink dries
the concrete hardens?
If I make a plan
I have to follow it.
The box is shutting
and the walls are closing in.
My throat is closing in,
brain shutting down.
I can’t think,
not now,
so I don’t.

I can’t speculate twenty years from now.
That is too much power.
That is a life time for the unlucky
Twenty years ago
I didn’t exist,
so who am to say
what will be in twenty years?

But please,
don’t mistake my inability for apathy.
I don’t mean to disappoint,
it’s not laziness.
It’s just the mask I wear,
it’s too good.
The walls I’ve built to keep the world out,
have become walls that keep me in.
They are too tall for either of us to scale.
But I have hope,
and I know I am loved.
So I’ll chip away on my side,
the world chips away on the other.
And maybe one day,
the light will shine through the cracks,
the walls will crumble,
and I will be ready.

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