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[micpschm]

My very first attempt at poetry.

What is It?
Is it inside me, inside you, outside somewhere?
Do I need It?
Want it?
Yes, but how?
How in this insane world can you achieve It,
If you don’t even know what It looks like?

I’ve thought I had It.
I’ve felt It before,
The incredible rush of a great goal,
That first kiss,
"Man did I kill that math exam,"
But is any of that It?
What am I working toward?

Why am I working?
I stress, and stress, and stress some more.
For what?
I suppose a better question is who.
I know It’s my parents and I think It’s myself.
I don’t know who believes I’m capable of more,
But what if I’m not?

After all, I can’t find It. Wouldn’t know It if It stared me straight in the eyes.
And without It, does anyone have anything?
Ring. . . ring. . . ring.
My alarm sounds, 7 a.m., its time to study, time for class, time to learn,
Time to file in line and prove that you are worthy of everything life has to offer.
Their life. Their ideals. Their perfection.
And maybe one day It will fall in my lap.

And then again, maybe not.