digital dance - poetry

23

i still do not know who i am supposed to be

sometimes i see others
and think that they will be as they are forever
and i hope i am not seen the same

my chest grows heavy
afraid that this job
means that i am giving up on every dream i have spent my life trying to achieve
but could it be truly such a mistake if i dont dread leaving my house
if i spend my days exploring new places
talking about philosophy and concerts and rating her tinder matches

i am asked how old i am
and i just learned how to say 23
because i cannot remember my 22nd birthday well
as engulfed as i was
by thick clouds of ashy misery
inhaled in the backseat of the car
of my lover's lover

i cannot remember so much
of being 17
(sleeping on the couch for a month, my parents afraid i would hurt myself beyond repair if i was alone at night)
or 18
(driving at 4am with cloudy windows, trying to bleed away the weight of the pain i caused her)
or 19
(a haze of misery, broken apart by her sunshine)
or 20
(she forgot me for another, leaving me bleeding yet again in search for some semblance of her embrace)
or 21
(a realization that she would never return to me the same, finding new sunshine in the smiles of my friends)

22
and
23

i can still remember
and throughout them
in an evolving, shining form
is you

and i know
no matter what
these months will remain sunshine in my memory

i do not know when they may cloud over
i do not know who i am supposed to be
i do not know if i still hold my same dreams as i once did

but for now
i will talk to strangers in public
watch them take film photos of grocery store signs
and wait impatiently for the next time your lips meet mine