If only I were that confident
I can’t remember the amount of times that phrase has run through my head.
If only I could paint like that I think,
gazing between my canvas and hers…or his.
If only my words held as much weight in the hearts of others
as they do when I scrawl them down on a tired notebook
at three in the morning.
If only I were enough.
I have found that no matter the accomplishment
my mind always finds the “if”
The “if only he were here”
The “if only I had tried”
The “if only I were as driven as she is…or he is”
The “if only I had gotten out of bed”
My life is driven by that one word
so much so that hearing it makes me cringe.
How is it that two letters, that one small and seemingly harmless word
can propel a person to be who they are
can keep you up all night with that sick dizzying feeling
can tear apart a life while at the same time sustaining it.
If is a poison I can’t help but breathe in.
If, a dark tar that coats my lungs.
If, a thick fog that blinds me.
If is the blood running through my veins.
If is my once upon a time.
It is my happily ever after, my the end, my whatever.
If is my life force, my hope, motivation, and regrets.
If is all the wishes I have made on loose eyelashes.
It is every first kiss, and bittersweet goodbye.
If haunts me,
but it pushes me to be better.
I don’t where I would be without if.
If is my most favorite word,
and my least,
but mostly it is my dreamy, yet melancholy sigh