Addicted to the Almost
I mainline maybes like a junkie,
drawn to the rush of a brand new plan
I’ll never carry through.
I build blueprints in my sleep—
cathedrals of ambition
crumbling by morning.
There’s a ritual in ruin:
set the goal, mark the date,
then whisper, not today.
The calendar becomes a graveyard
for good intentions.
I call it rest—
but it’s really rot.
My to-do list is a prayer
I fold and never send.
I get high on the promise of change
but overdose on comfort.
The soft seduction of delay—
I’ll quit it tomorrow,
I swear.
But the truth is deeper.
It’s not just about avoiding effort—
it’s about being trapped in the habit
of disappointing myself.
The Habit of Almost
I scroll through other people’s victories
with the thumb of a ghost,
numbing the part of me that once screamed
to begin.
I plan like a priest—
rituals etched in bullet journals,
offerings of intention
laid out on the altar of someday.
But the spark never catches.
Starting always tastes like bitterness
I can’t swallow.
The anxiety knocks first.
I let it in,
then get mad at it for staying.
Soon it fades,
melting into that hollow indifference—
the kind that makes even poetry
feel too heavy to hold.
I could’ve entered.
I could’ve applied.
I could’ve become.
But I watched videos instead,
fed my silence with sound
until my dreams starved quietly in the corner.
There’s a voice in my head
still trying to raise the dead.
It tells me to write,
to speak,
to live.
I drown it out with nonsense
and call it peace.
I live in a room with low ceilings,
where nothing can grow too tall.
It’s safe here.
No one expects a masterpiece
from a person who never starts the painting.
But God—
the regret stings like unfinished verses.
The guilt stacks like unopened emails.
I want more.
I want to finish the book,
to hold it in trembling hands
and say I stayed.
I want to stand on a stage
and speak my truth so loud
it drowns out the years I whispered it to myself.
But I am addicted
to the comfort of decay.
And healing is an action
I keep planning
and never beginning
~Wendy~
This is a super personal one, can you tell?😶
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From The Inside
PoetryA collection of a few, simple poems that i started writing a few years ago and some recent ones as well. "From The Inside ," is about my life stories and experiences in poetry form and what takes places inside my heart and mind.
