#existential bs

When you ask

What Impact Will You Have On This World? perhaps

it may be comforting to think

that the mere

act of trying to measure something

Changes it.

.

Or maybe that is a fact that will

keep you up at nights,

sweaty winters, gritting your teeth in the night

like standing in the snow just to know

what it means to feel cold, what is this Changing?

  .            

What is this changing? What is this act

of consistenly regenerating, self

after self after self, what

does it mean when the seasons spiral

through you in a day or when they stop

and hang? What does it mean to know that you

are forever the house you are building but

you can't knock yourself down however

much you want to because you don't what

does it mean to change I

am a time and a place, I

am the now or the then and the will-bes or am I

just the act of measuring?

Should I

   .      

just be something profoundly beautiful or is it a sin

to stop trying to live noble since I

don't know if I can anymore, I've been

through the winter before and I

know how it ends, but there

are so many things I've just looked at through fogged glass,

young, lonely summer man

    .      

with your gangly tangle of spider-legs

covered up by tattered too-short jeans

tobbogin tucked over your eyes,

calf-deep in snow

that is, when I see you questioning

why you've never stood

in the billowing blanketing blankout

of pure, white uncertainty

and your forehead runs salty with something

that could be fear or

wonder

and I try to measure the Very Thing that I, I

am Feeling

     . 

Who, What, When, or Where, exactly