Discontent

Discontent splashes around
like rain on the pavement;
the cold cuffs of my jeans
unable to dry before
I brave the weather again.

A nagging something,
somewhere towards the back,
something I should have written,
bought or brought or made new,
a game plan for get going
time’s a’wastin’, make it now,
make it happen,
leap, swallow, and fake it till.

It’s a should have said
more than hello
and four best friends
slipping through your fingers.
Don’t see much of you anymore.
You don’t get to,
cause I’m at healthy now,
and you're not there yet.
Unvitation inrequired.

Give me a sec’, I’m saving the world.
Now, from top to bottom,
how can I make this situation better?
G-R-O-W-ing.

What more?