by Kristin Heyder
if I focused more on what it’s like to breathe
then I’d be happier, more at ease
because what a miracle it is, really,
to breathe
but each time I sit down to meditate
I cheat myself
saying it helps
but really I feel a little
worse each time
because I’m so stressed out
and I really wish this were all
easier,
like they all said it was,
like they all said it should be,
like it used to be for me.
I want to enjoy my life
but I have no idea what it means to want things
out of life
or what I want my life
to mean to me.
I do know that I
miss the way holidays
felt
and I miss not knowing anything about
climate change
and I miss the way chicken flavored Ramen used to taste—
it’s blander now, for whatever reason
and I’m sadder now, for whatever reason.
I don’t think I’m my best friend’s
best friend anymore and I
have a hard time trying not to cry
in front of strangers.
It’s hard to write about,
but I try to write more
honestly now, more from my heart
even though we all like those
little nonsensical phrases
we can stick in our pockets
for later, and it’s easy to appeal to the masses
especially when my desire to contribute
is higher than my desire
to tell the truth nowadays
sometimes at least
but it’s alright, no need to feel dismayed,
that’s just the program these days,
that’s just the way
of the world nowadays,
I believe.