I can’t bank on much these days.
My first love won’t afford me solid ground
that this concrete world demands of me.

A chemist can’t defy biology,
despite her truest desires.

I am a writer, maybe masquerading
		as a scientist.
	I’m having doubts,
that I can ever be one of you.

In my heart are ideas of love,
		existence, and God.
I’ve got chemistry with the chemistry
that leads me closer to the truth:
	that lends me greater thoughts,
and I just want to sing them to the collective you.

My dreams don’t align with anyone I know.

I’m trying so hard to be a Wallace Stevens
and lead a useful life while not suppressing
the words that I hold inside.

I’m trying so hard
just to be
 
 
 
 

me.