Bored Immigrant Poetry

that wild feeling of knowing
that there’s something more
inside of me,
or that… something huge
is on its way…

is it a delusion
or an instinctive truth?

I suppose it’s what makes
life interesting,
it wakes me up everyday
with a pound of anticipation,
it makes me smile at the
possibilities…

Yes, I’ve indulged.
I must.
Despite its uncertainty.
Despite its sad wonder.
I trust the wild feeling.

To hang on.
To learn a bit of joy.
To have a reason.

I’m here.
I am still here.
And that’s what matters to me.

It’s the only thing
that matters to me.

So I can breathe more.