Dusty Dreams

I have nobody to talk to

except this blank page

nobody to turn to

except the next empty corner 

on the next empty street.

I call my parents and tell them my problems

and my dad says, “Stop complaining,”

and my mother doesn’t know what to do.

They are old 

and I am middle aged.

I am supposed to know what to do,

but I don’t.

I might become one of those vacant faces that horrify me

somebody lost

in plain sight.

I am losing the fight 

that I tried not to lose

I wish somebody would listen to me

and give me much needed advice

When I was 18

the world was in front of me

and now I’m stuck in the middle of life.

It’s the age-old fight

I am who I am

but I don’t want to be

I am only dust 

hoping to take the shape of dreams.