I can never find myself getting used to the inconsistency in my life, which makes sense i suppose. all of these ups and downs have been wearing me out and i can never seem to find a way to take a break and get back to normal. i dont feel like myself as much as i should or as much as i want to. A cohort of mine introduced me to this poem today, it is how i feel sometimes. by Frank O'Hara
Now I am quietly waiting for
the catastrophe of my personality
to seem beautiful again,
and interesting, and modern.
The country is grey and
brown and white in trees,
snows and skies of laughter
always diminishing, less funny
not just darker, not just grey.
It may be the coldest day of
the year, what does he think of
that? I mean, what do I? And if I do,
perhaps I am myself again.
