late luminescence

I have it stuck in my head that I am always the one who is expected to stay stagnant

to be the girl waiting back behind the picket fence who is familiar in all the ways that feel like home

but in all honesty, I am too disparate to be her

half the kitchen would be clean and the pantry would be full of all the ingredients of abandoned dreams

i'd be eating the leftovers of last week's culinary disaster

my room would be a museum of all the times i have ever loved, even if i'm only sentimental in the short term

and my desk would be covered in receipts and empty boxes of cookies,

all the postcards we bought and never made time to write

i paint my life with the best of intentions, i thought about you but not in the way that wounds

i'd either be in all day or never at all

contradiction, cyclical rebellion, oscillation, dejavu

its always the smallest things that really break you

I don't really understand what exactly I have for my appeal ---

I know its not good to talk down yourself but like I just feel ---

I'm dead weight, I'm always late, I might not flake but like

I'm certainly far cry from being the best 

I'm dead weight, when will my luck dissipate

I'm always late, and they still wait

I might not flake, but I feel sure one day they'll deem me a fake

I'm certainly far cry from being the best 

is it only a matter of time? 

most days I don't even make the sloshing rhyme,

but if I was on the stand, with a gavel in my hand,

I'm certainly far cry from being the best, so when will I fail the test?

I would deem me so unworthy.