These are the thoughts

These are the thoughts

That go through my head

In my backyard on a Sunday afternoon

When I have the house to myself

And I'm not expending all that energy

On fighting with my boyfriend

Is he the one that I will marry?

Why is it so hard to be objective about myself?

Why do I feel cellularly alone?

Am I supposed to live in this crazy city?

Can blindly continued fear-induced

Regurgitated life-denying tradition be overcome?

Where does the money go that I send to those in need?

If we have so much, why do some people have nothing still?

Why do I feel frantic when I first wake up in the morning?

Why do you say you are spiritual yet you treat people like shit?

How can you say you're close to God and yet you talk behind

My back as though I am not a part of you?

Why do I say I'm fine when it's obvious I'm not?

Why's it so hard to tell you what I want?

Why can't you just read my mind?

Why do I fear that the quieter I am the less you will listen?

Why do I care whether you like me or not?

Why is it so hard for me to be angry?

Why is it such work to stay conscious and

So easy to get stuck and not the other way around?

Will I ever move back to Canada?

Can I be with a lover with whom I am a student and a master?

Why am I encouraged to shut my mouth when it gets too close to home?

Why cannot I live in the moment?