I spend so much time,
Thinking these things,
Writing on paper,
Then ripping it up,
And starting,
All over again.
I spend this time,
Wondering who I am,
To judge another,
When I am,
So imperfect.
Day to day,
Night to night,
I’m plagued by this guilt,
Of a crime not committed.
I spend all this time,
Saying “What if?”
Wondering,
Thinking,
Hoping,
And I don’t want to anymore.