How can I care?

I want to care I really do,
But so much of what I do is just up to you.
How do I take the power back?
Not so you have less but so I have more?
Is that even necessary? No, for sure.
I want this whole thing to work,
But I am afraid of my partners skill,
Afraid of my own,
Afraid of being grown.
Being great is such a task,
When being tiny is a laugh -
Which to choose at the end of the path?

Inspired by: Do You Care? - Adaora Obiajunwa


Continued. . .

Obviously being great,
But who can wait to see that demonstrate -
It's already too late.
I am what I am and that is simply fate,
What I do next I will not hate,
Only do it with a smile and appreciate the goal of living late.
What does that mean? Well it's simple,
I've fallen off the bath, the path, the nipple -
These mental prisons I've drawn are always more than material,
Crafting blocks in my mind like sugary globes of cereal.
If I only smoked less weed, or breathed more breaths,
My consciousness would really be impressed.
But alas I roll not another joint,
Happy to sit,
Here and enjoy the night.

"Maybe tomorrow I will write"
I say to myself in spite,
"How am I going to post this poem?"
I say to myself in mourn.
The air outside is cool and fresh,
It feels like the onset of death.
Why does my mind take such turns of rhyme,
Clearly I am on a path that is far from sublime.
But I can redeem it,
I always can -
It's just the truth and I,
We play a funny jam.
Sometimes I meet him,
And we do a little jig -
Sometimes I meet him,
And call him a pig.
All the time it's I,
making judgments inside.
Now that I am aware,
What do I do when I stride?


Emanuel