There is a tool built into me for this kind of sorting, letting every small alarm and every real one ring with the exact same volume,
There is a tool built into me for this kind of sorting, and I have treated a passing comment with the same weight as an actual loss,
There is a tool built into me for this kind of sorting, as though reaching for it would somehow mean I didn't feel things deeply,
What would today look like if I actually used the sorting I was already given instead of drowning in all of it equally,
There is a tool built into me for this kind of sorting, and I am taking it out finally, to see what it was built to do…
There is a crack I keep ignoring while it's still small enough to only need a little time, walking past it every day and telling myself it isn't spreading,
There is a crack I keep ignoring while it's still small enough to only need a little time, and I know exactly what it will cost me the day it finally can't be ignored,
There is a crack I keep ignoring while it's still small enough to only need a little time, and some part of me is almost waiting for the bigger repair, like it would prove something,
What is the small tending I keep avoiding because it doesn't feel urgent enough to interrupt my day,
There is a crack I keep ignoring while it's still small enough to only need a little time, finally, with the little I actually have…
I keep finishing things I no longer care about just because I already paid so much to get there, dragging a version of myself across a finish line that stopped meaning miles back,
I keep finishing things I no longer care about just because I already paid so much to get there, and I call it discipline when really it's just fear of admitting the cost was wasted,
I keep finishing things I no longer care about just because I already paid so much to get there, and the finishing has cost me more than walking away ever could have,
Am I actually still choosing this, or am I just afraid of what it means to have changed my mind,
I keep finishing things I no longer care about just because I already paid so much to get there, and I am allowing myself to stop paying a debt I never actually owed…
There is a version of me halfway who no longer recognizes where it's trying to go, standing in the middle of something I started with total clarity and can no longer name,
There is a version of me halfway who no longer recognizes where it's trying to go, and I keep pushing forward because stopping here feels worse than being lost,
There is a version of me halfway who no longer recognizes where it's trying to go, and I wonder if getting lost was actually always part of finding it,
Can I admit I don't know where this is going without treating that as proof I've failed it,
There is a version of me halfway who no longer recognizes where it's trying to go, and I am staying here tonight, lost, without needing to pretend otherwise, and it’s okay…
Watchwords:
A tool built into me for sorting,
A crack while it's still small enough,
Finishing things I no longer care about,
Halfway through and I no longer recognize,
Kneeling down tonight with the little I have,
Here is Tikatarot, who dares you to answer the question, “Who am I?”..
As and will always be reminding you to dream: