you keep telling yourself that

i keep telling myself-
maybe tomorrow i'll spend more on food
next day, next week, next life
a need for something sweet and something vital
i'll sleep as much as i need
i'll starve the beast that's eating my brain

maybe tomorrow

forget about work, for real
not dread the end of innocence
accept each day for what it brings me
stop trying, always, to simplify, to minimize, to take away
(to give away, to tomorrow - and to morrow, to day)

maybe tomorrow

i'll take that trip, equivalent exchange
visit people in far-away places
reconnect beyond maturity's grave
read a book and keep a secret

maybe tomorrow

i'll start practicing, honorably
i'll change the filter in the turtle tank
i'll get my taxes done
(invest in myself)
(take care of myself)
(acknowledge my illness)
(oh, god, i can't breathe)
i'll breathe-

maybe tomorrow

i'll write again
(an epic and a symphony)
i'll drive again
(to near and from far)
i'll think again
(thoughts less repetitive, more magnificent)
i'll survive again
(live to laugh and lie and smart and die and grin and bear another day)

maybe someday

so many dreams. so many impossible dreams
(i'll repair the habit of concerning talk)
(of embarrassing myself by the way i walk)
(of sinking my chances before and after i swim)
(of lampooning myself once i try to begin)
dreams that i haven't even dared to dream yet

(maybe someday)

maybe someday, i'll smile with my teeth again
maybe someday, i'll reach out to you again
maybe someday, i'll find the me that's dying
maybe someday, i'll discover the secret to life

maybe tomorrow

and the secret to life is not "maybe tomorrow"
because maybe tomorrow is never today
the secret to life is not vaguely waiting
because shapes in the fog leave us wanting

the secret to life is not wanting nor having
i think. maybe tomorrow i prove it
by doing none of these things,
and staying alive anyway

through yesterday. on to today