5th October 2022

So I like to dwell in despondency it seems,
my heart heavy with the weight of life going on around me,
things not as I would like them,
people and deadlines,
my desire ‘to matter’.

All these to answer to,
all pulled taught against feelings of fatigue,
or maybe it is lethargy,
the two revolve around each other inside of me,
the fear of God flash-carding with the fuck it all,
with the it will all be alright,
over and over.

…And all the time, things are good.
I was born (I have been told) with a guardian angel looking over me,
willing the cards to fall the right way,
giving me the strength and perseverance needed to recover on the occasions I fall,
granting me the vagueness of so as to not have to consciously confront the more obvious shortcomings that afflict my person.

And yet still I search out despondency,
I like the feel of its weighing on my being,
I like its ‘hard done by’ undertones of self-pity.

For a mood that appears not to fit,
it feels so very comfortable,
so very me.

Am I taking advantage of something I have no right to
…but the world has no shortage of things to feel despondent about after all,

and so,
while things are just a little awry, will I stop,

…probably not.

Baby Dog,
Frensham Drive,
SW15 3EB, London.

Spring (in Melbourne) Poetry (mine) What is This copyright information Copyright Sunda 2022