underwhelmme

i am underwhelming, at best. a classic underachiever. coasting on passable talents, cultivating--nothing. i follow whims for a couple of footfalls and get distracted by paw prints in the sand. they lead me to dead ends dammed to all heights, waterfalls on every side. even when i turn around, something is stopping me--"a person who can't even regress?" it's absurd, but i'm her.
to everyone else in the world, i'm full of potential. untarnished, unbridled, bursting potential...that never seems to dissipate, but never goes anywhere either...that one who is plugging away at things as they come.. working her way toward something, never sure what. still, after all this time, not sure what. i could... so many things. i do.... nothing. not yet, not ever it would seem. those fucking beavers in my head building walls so high birds dare not cross, nor snowflakes, or clouds or any manifestation of great height that might overcome these walls. nothing may pass.
i lull in my cradle full of porcupine spines and thorns with no roses, i rock so hard i cling for my life, though never manage to fall out. i twist in nightmares of dreams gone astray--plundering angels searching for prey--never me, but always almost... like a curse that hasn't quite worked out the kinks, trying to wreak havoc but only managing a mild form of blindsided torture. i exist.
underwhelming, at best.. and for what? who wants to procreate with an intellectual circus--undecided and untamed, unruly, unkempt and potentially disastrous. these things are fun to watch, from afar. but from inside, a whirling dirvish of dissolution. of unknowing, of fruitlessness and laziness. going nowhere but round and round caught in dust, disgust and indecision for ever and ever. and ever.