Ever teetering

I never thought days could be
elastic or sticky
but I have never had a plan
for tomorrow,
though I worry a hell of a lot
about purpose
and belonging and loneliness
which seemed a purgatory
for a little girl who loved meadows.
There is no judgement among weeds.
Grown up and itchy,
the days are filled with enough minutiae
to make a rat scoff
finding mirth only when beholding art
or fitting enough trivia together
to feel learned.
I trip over my own feet sometimes.