Maybe it’ll help me sleep

if I keep jotting down the little things

that make me feel.

I feel real when I deal with what I have and what I had.

What’s missing? Nothing bad.

It’s just, I’m stuck in a paradox where luck gave me happiness, but luck runs out and now I’m stuck fucking waiting around

thinking “poor me, I’m lonely.” Then my dad says, “Don’t wait and see. You have to get out there and do something fun. Call someone, see what they’re doing.”

But I don’t. That’s that. It’s all my fault.

Man up and have fun, it’s summer, after all.