New York.
I am reaching a crossroads. Now, at 24 (neither too young or old enough), I am obligated to gather myself and find a purpose in life. I can still be young and flagrant, yet I need to have direction. I am panicked. I really want to shout and try to explain, but I’ve found a crappy drafted poem I wrote when I was twenty to argue my point. I am not where I want to be, nor where I fear. This is it. Here is my 4-year-old explanation
See where we are now
Cradled by Ottoman castles
Ampitheatres, open-faced
Graced
Laying on marble floors
Ancient arenas
Wrestling
Too aware that
We’re better off than we once were
This pack of the lost
Scatter-brained
Brought together and
Scavenging for measured success
Excusing its absence
Climbing the valleys of Ephasus
Drunk in the gardens of Selcuk
Led by ambitions too bright to contain
I have begun to wonder how long I can explore
And pretend I am finding nothing
Pretend I am gaining everything
How much longer paper-cupped-coffee
And aircraft bathrooms
Will signal a renaissance.
