eternity

things are quiet here.
and I am restless.
one part calm
ninety-nine parts indecision
or maybe
fear
because I will always speak too softly and
have bad posture
and weigh too much
while I wear the wrong colors
always and

not enough

of

too much

just enough so that I am worthless to anyone else
so you’ll have to keep me
your own personal self-sacrifice

and when will that end?
the illusion that if you weren’t there I would fall apart and die?
that you, somehow, possess all the strings that hold me together?
Maybe it isn’t even that complicated.
And has more to do with the fact that you are there.
An assurance.
Like clean socks.
Like always having a place to rest my head between your shoulder blades.
But even that isn’t quite right either.