This was the last poem that had this nadir tone. I realized why I was unable to focus on what I wanted to do and it was largely out of my control.
"Barefoot"
Apathetic and prophetic as I nap and regret it
My mind diverges into urge as I fail to converge at a single point
Adroit as I anoint the paper and taper off into disillusion
This illusion of confusion isn’t a result of reclusion
No, It derives from ubiquity
The infinity presented I resented for I couldn’t focus
Couldn’t hone in on my zone and now I’m listless
Remiss to the bliss I found in creative expression
Now left vexing at what the fuck to do
Only to up chuck and buck up when asked
“What are your career interests?”
The veneer I portray only to venture into foray
Lying to myself just to make it through the day
But nay, they say, you’re jubilant and exuberant
Your energy illuminates the darkest room
But inside the lights are out as my psyche shouts
As doubt accrues from the choosing of this path
Succumb to the wrath of the machine
Just for the green we hope to glean
But what good are numbers when in the eternal slumber?
What measures impact?
What pleasures are intact?
What must be severed to redact damage done?
Introspection leaves me clueless
Walking on hot coals shoeless