Trust

Most of the time i can’t trust myself enough

To know that i know enough about what i’m doing.

Running on the treadmill always trying to keep up

Gnashing teeth. Wringing hands.

What is it i don’t understand?

I keep trying to fill this emptiness, with some goddamn ideal will it ever be enough?

Spiraling cottonwood seeds drift and build up like snow curbside.

Cracked sidewalk shifted and bent atop gnarled ancient tree roots.

When will I know enough to know that all this striving, this ideal of

perfection is what keeps me from peace.

Author: Buddhadoshā

Buddhadoshā loves you.

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