Change

I don’t feel like myself lately. I look into the mirror set on my antique dresser (my favorite kind) and stare at myself, tired and perplexed. Maybe it’s because I cut my hair. 

I don’t feel like myself lately.  Rather than staying up into the wee hours of the night reading the entire Twilight series in one week (yes, in one week, 1,817 pages, to be exact), I choose to ponder what it means to be human, how some people insist on denying evolution, how on earth Jordan Belfort was so darn rich in the Wolf of Wall Street, and why the heck cockroaches haven’t gone extinct yet. Maybe it’s because I don’t sleep enough at night. 

I don’t feel like myself lately. My guitar has had a missing string for three months now. Every day I look at it and voice to myself, I need to fix that string, and just look at how it has turned out. “Free Falling” by Tom Petty will never sound the same as long as it’s missing, yet I can’t force myself to drive a whopping fifteen minutes to Guitar Center to buy a new one. Maybe it’s because of the music I’ve been listening to rather than playing.  

I don’t feel like myself lately. I’ve been having a hard time keeping a straight face when middle aged mothers of the lacrosse team begin crying during their speech at the end-of-the-season banquet. Pitiful. I had to cover my eyes to disguise my laughter. It must take guts to weep your eyes out in front of your son or daughter and all of their friends. Maybe it’s because I’m becoming more cynical. 

I don’t feel like myself lately. Water-coloring picturesque flowers onto the  all-encompassing pages of my journal is no longer a reality. Instead, I find myself doodling sensible skylines into my sketchbook and tracing brilliant French doors into the room which holds my future. Maybe it’s because I know what I want to do with my life.

I don’t feel like myself lately. My heart wails simply from the thought of the amount of plastic the ocean contains. We need to do something about it, collect all of it and turn it into a sick modern house or something. A homeless shelter? Maybe it’s because I care about the world I live in more than myself, a being of it. 

Still, dissatisfaction is my greatest fear. Perhaps I can find a middle ground and explore what satisfaction entails of as I continue to blossom into a young woman.

I’m fixing that string tomorrow. 

This poem is about: 
Me
My family
My community
My country
Our world
Guide that inspired this poem: 

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