The Moment Stands for Nothing

I can only see an arms length ahead
at a time.

I remind myself how to sit still but
my toes still tap on the tile beneath them,
drumming messages in Morse code
that only I know how to translate
into something discernable.

All I ever signal is hope for a sign
to be sure of.

I can't live my life charting
tangled red threads on a cork board
constantly crossing over one another
like some abstract art.

I've gone mad connecting the dots before.

It's so hard to remind myself
not everything traces back around.
It's actually quite narcissistic to assume
I am at the center of every fallout.

So now I learn how to keep dreams as souvenirs collected on the nights
my body loosens the leash
on my subconscious. I desperately try
to maintain Calmness
but my spirits have proven too many times
to know the story's end
long before I get the chance to
turn on the lights.

I can't Dream Big
without making up added consequences
because I don't feel deserving
of the good times.
I never worked hard enough for them.

I shame the moral gray areas of my own mind.

The moments in which I've lied
didn't seem like a problem at the time
but in hindsight...
what if I made a mistake?
And what if others hate the way I behaved?

Does shame demand a sacrifice or
can I just do better next time?

I promise myself everyday to keepy trying,
even if everything coincides
with the tightrope
I'm defying.

The moment stands for nothing unless
I assign its meaning.