Twenty-two

Half bursting,
half nothing, 
some mornings I’m something
and others I’m not.
How do I live all at once
but feel as if I’m not moving;
I’m striving, dancing, crying, beating
and this is not enough.
I can’t be all of it 
without dulling myself down–
I’m white dust scattered into mud
and soon enough they’ll see
I’m no more than this.
I don’t know how to be 
when I want all of it
but keep falling short.
I’m a burnt out melody
that played so many times 
the lyrics became lost.
What if I’ll be none, nothing,
not a mark by morning,
half bursting,
half nothing.