I talk a lot of game on these pages

but I can’t even sit down to work on

the one class I’m taking this semester

 

Such distain for the past,

Such resentment of my own choices

So angry at all the years that I have wasted,

I’ll waste months just trying to put it into words

 

Is it good, or bad?

That I put myself in the same boat

as the pleasure seekers,

the frat boys,

the material girls,

The youth, wandering through the desert

purposefully seeking out a mirage

because real oases take work to cultivate

 

Why spend my time pondering,

the existential burdens of a generation?

I can’t even face myself,

let alone my own burdens

 

Am I as worthless as I think?

Am I as revolutionary as I hope?

Am I as naïve as I claim?

Am I as profound as I attempt to be?

 

My mind churns over itself,

I just hope one day,

This will all mean something