who am I?, a terza rima

Do I trust myself to know who I am?
At thirty years of age I should embrace
Myself and not fear that I am a sham.

So many others seem to age with grace.
They know what they can do and who they want.
They never seem to second guess their place.

The fear of commitment and not knowing haunt
My dreams, both waking and sleeping. I cannot
Imagine life with peaceful sleep. So gaunt

Are my eyes from insomnia, I sought
A doctor’s pills to put an end to strife,
But still constant uncertainties I’ve fought. 

What do I want out of this privileged life?
Can I be happy with a husband or wife?


Current, a poem

The wind in my hair
On my face
In my skirt

People pass by like the river beyond
The water breaks without pause on an island upstream

I am an island in a river of people.
Some glance, but none pause in their relentless move forward.
A dog sniffs at my shoe.
He is pulled away.
The owner apologizes,
        desperate not to intrude,
        to have no effect on my life.

But the dog knows
We are all moved along by the same current.

My garden is overgrown, a villanelle

My garden is overgrown
I cannot see through the pines
And on the voices drone

Above, birds have flown
Their freedom-loving spirit shines
But my garden is overgrown

Contained in skin, sinew, and bone
No guidance, no signs
And on the voices drone

Too many seeds have been sown
None in discernible lines
So the garden is overgrown

Through it I wander alone
My thoughts are choking binds
On and on the voices drone

I try to climb to where the sun has shone
But there is no escape from the choking vines
Because my garden is overgrown
And on the voices drone.