Untitled #457

I feel like wasted potential.

Like kinetic energy that ran right up against a wall.

I feel like an explosion that stopped midway.

Or maybe it never truly started.

Maybe it’s trapped, rumbling beneath my personhood, an exterior worn egg shell thin.

I feel like who I was meant to be got left behind when I wasn’t looking.

I let go of their hands in the rush. In the crush of the tide. In the dark I tried to stumble my way out of.

In my panic, I let go.