Shit Expectations

I am annoyed at my lack of inspiration
for living, for writing.

I wish I could always ever
write gorgeous things


that would require
gorgeous things to happen.

And sometimes they do,
but why do I come home
and feel empty?

why do I wake up
and feel listless?

when I think of my dreams
I can see myself in a year
in 3
in 10

doing the same pointless things.
doing something that gives me zero meaning.
and I can’t see myself doing that which makes me happy,
because I have never known what that is.

and even if I did,
who even would I share it with?

of the few family members that I have,
none of them are supportive.

lovers will surely go in time,
I cannot truly depend on them.

Even if I managed to get pregnant and have kids,
how could I ever raise them?

I remember rarely and infrequently being happy.
what could I possibly pass on?

besides despair,
lack of faith,
constant spiritual hunger.

I have no strength.

Many things have been handed to me.
I know that I have privilege.

But none of it makes a difference,
when you are stripped of deep interpersonal relationships.

I feel like I’m always taking
and fleeing.

Because I don’t trust anyone to love me.

I don’t know how to be family.
I am surrounded by pathetic examples.
I can barely take responsibility.

Rarely am I willing to put forth the effort
to make others happy.
To even let them get to know me.
Believing I have so little to offer to begin with.
I hardly find myself deserving.

It’s like
I want to be lonely.


About Jessica Lee

Jessica is a twenty-something poet who performs most of her work on stage in Spoken Word. She has found writing therapeutic since she was child, and has pursued it ceaselessly. She enjoys writing even the most fleeting thoughts and dreams as SensicalRavings. Between long retail shifts, she enjoys writing observational pieces (always with a slant) of locally relevant subjects as ALLGainesville. If you appreciate inspiring, coming-of-age suppositions, become a follower. Though it's not always roses, it's raw!

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