where the tree grows

i am afraid

i’ll never do it

that i’ll slip into mediocrity

where even among the mediocre

i’ll be considered in whispers

as only okay

that i’ll grow up gasping little lives

maybe producing one or two myself

who will shadow upwards like me

who remained unfortunately

ungrown

i am afraid

i’ll never do it

because i’ll be busy

with things and stuff

until this undefined gray film blankets me

warm and comfortable

into a dreamless sleep

i am afraid

i’ll never do it

and instead fade away

a million deaths before

in the attempt to avoid them

falling nonetheless

like earth’s plates that seek

less sharpness in each movement

i am afraid

i’ll never do it

which is all there is

to do ever

i am afraid

i will never do it

for there are times to

be suckled by the conversations

around the dinner table

by the self-confidence that erodes regularly

but that sometimes sits silent like a star

illuminating the night

by the everyday normal life that annoys

but relaxes for nothing important

needs be said sometimes

unlike here

i am afraid

that i will never do it

for i will get old

and scared of the change

that wasn’t the change i knew

when i was i

which was courageous and changing

i am afraid

that i will never do it

for it will be done

with all i am

i am afraid

i will not be able to

end my life

before my life

has ended

in fears of i

that it will instead just happen

like slippery soap in a shower

that will eventually wear

on a body dirty and ruined

and forever unclean

for he collapsed in tireless resistance

while the water

was running over him

lapping like a rock

or a broken branch

that still

against it all

floats