I’m just improvising

I do not know how to live,

what life is like or about,

I do not know what is like to be me,

How’s right to be me, and to be it now.

I don’t know how much is too much,

I don’t know what is like to be 29,

I’m first time being,

The things I’m supposed to do,

The things I’m being imposed and should ignore,

The things I should put more effort into.

Cause nobody has taught me, nobody showed,

Yet I can’t help to feel you’re all agreeing on something

I’m somehow missing out.

Why ain’t you guys doubting more?

What answers do you have that I don’t?

What on this earth does it mean to be an adult,

What is love? Is it what I think? What if I’m wrong?

Choosing is exhausting.

Being up here in my head challenging every thought,

In a duel against myself, thinking out of control,

Is it all logic? What if it’s not,

What if after pros and cons I just say no,

These texts are not my gut,

And I break every word, leaving myself

feeling tiny and outgrown once more.

What is it like to be a good friend

more than being there for the big ones,

What is it like to be a good son

more than saying good night on the group chat,

What is it like an ever lasting love

more than a well mannered choreo,

and the abc, the 101, not simple but basic.

Would we be dense like a Lynch movie

and yet make it to sing all Toy Story songs?

Would we read out loud for each other 

and drink wine in half-light?

Would you teach me stuff 

and find anything to learn from me?

Would we backpack southeastern Asia,

and go to the theater well dressed?

Would we whisper our day to each other in bed,

and slay our throats at a concert?

Would we pitch camp in the living room

just for the vibe and the aesthetic?

Would I talk about you as if things are good without you,

but better when you’re around?

Would we make days nice? 

And make something special out of a small talk?

Would these fucking things be facts not words

cause fuck poetry, fuck metaphors, fuck literary devices,

this is not a wish list, but a to do.

Or am I just delusional and we’re all steered

to a dull routine, divorce, kids,

cantfightstatistics thing,

grow opposite ways, buy a house,

to be in different rooms, and find our company 

at times bearable, at times kind of pleasant,

and end up finding out love is a quite good financial trade.

How much is a connection worth? 

Is it half the rent, half the food, half friends?

Is anyone still listening?

Should we do what we feel,

Or what’s logical, equation solving, 

what’s right, can be scored, marked,

counted, rounded, accepted,

Can I accept this? I don’t know.

Would you? Is people doing so? 

Why do most couples engaging 

seem so boring and so bored?

Why do adults doze but stop daydreaming?

Am I only a whimy grownup kid?

That’s surely what my dad would say.

I don’t know, I’m tired, again.