Middle of Summer

You never stop wanting to talk.
Your mouth flaps faster than your mind can develop words.
I can’t understand you.
I can’t keep at your pace.

You want me to talk about it.
I want to let it go but I can’t afford to have another thing to regret on my mind.
It’s power over me, your knowing what’s getting to me, and besting me each time.
I refuse to be just another one waiting in a long line.

I’d rather be forgettable than be regretful.
I don’t need another vice to choke on.
I don’t need another lie to starve me.
I’m moving on with all that’s dead and dragging behind me.
I’ll find a place of comfort to lay my burdens down and then go empty handed to where I am meant to be.

I’d rather be forgettable than to be regretful.
Your respect and prominence won’t save you.
You have long, cold road beyond you.

If I hadn’t learned this, I’d still be reaching for the unreachable.
Compromising is the next best thing.
It’s the closest I could get self-actualizing.

I’m moving forward, dragging the dead behind me.
I’ll find a place of comfort in the middle of summer and lay my burden down.

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