Where To Begin

Where to begin?
I don't think anyone ever fully knows.
But I know,
I need to start somewhere.

I get confused when I look at life and see all the choices.
Like puzzle pieces,
I get stuck questioning what goes where.

What?

When?

Who?

Why?

I find these questions disturbing.
Probably because the answers have always eluded me.

What am I chasing?
When did I become this?
Who am I meant to be?
Why am I the way that I am?

Am I?

My mind is full yet empty.
Does there need to be a meaning to everything?
Is there a meaning to anything?

People say you need to enjoy life while it lasts,
But will I even care after I am dead?
Where will I go?

Swaddled by dirt,
Like an insect swaddled by their cocoon.
I don't like the idea of being eaten by worms.
But does it feel worse than being eaten alive by fear?

Fears.

Does my father have those?
He doesn't seem to care about the things in this world that aren't him.
Would he cry if I died?
I think he would forget me when the grass grows high enough.

I hate mowing lawns.
Although,
I do like the smell of the blades of green after they have been cut.

I accidentally ran over a frog once.
I smelled the blood,
It filled my nose.

Was he hungry, too?
Did he care about life?
What keeps animals like him from simply standing still in the face of being mowed down?
If there are no tears,
Do they at least cry on the inside?

Inside.

Inside my room,
I feel so sleepy I can barely crawl out in the morning.
I look out the window,
Why is the world so big?
Wherever shall I go?

Sometimes I think life is too big for me.
Let me just close my eyes,
Close my soul,
Close my door.

If I liked baths,
I would just let myself slip away.
I like being buried in water.
I like to look up at the surface as the rays of light stab through.

Feels like church,
Feels like heaven,
Feels like a god is watching me.

Is there someone there?
Will they catch me if I sink?
It would be so easy to let the bubbles slip from my lips.

Father,
Would you cry if I died?