the inevitable

*fifteen

spinning around,
weaving through my fingers.
something so uselessly interesting being repeated over and over again.
it makes me nauseous from the changes, unsettling, even.
again, I pace back and forth
till my mind can't concentrate
and my hands start shaking.
such a force, it takes me aback
from what I know already.
Planting new ideas in my head,
each seed a different hue.
Is this an illusion or the next step?
Ever complaining about the same old things,
Is this my chance to jump?
There's nothing else here
other than the soft rumble
of what's yet to come.
Maybe it's the air I breathe
or the songs I sing.
The people I watch
or the words I hear.
like wind, pushing me away.
like wind, lifting me up.
everything and everyone
has brought me to where I'm meant to be.