The Uneasiness

I know that

I was born feeling as if

Nothing will ever be enough.

That I’ve done everything from

Struggle with it, to play with it, to

Dedicate my life to various careers and paths

That exercise this particular demon.

Things that take up your whole consciousness —

Because otherwise you’d have to be alone

With your hopes and dreams

That endlessly scale up in intensity

Always, always failing

Never succeeding.

Each triumph comes with not a trophy, but a

Receipt. Nothing in this life comes easy

But what I struggle with the most

Is the uneasiness.

The knot in my stomach that knows

Nothing will ever untie it.

No love, no drug, no check will suffice.

I am doomed to want more, it’s what I call

Being alive.