To be unsure

Sometimes I think I’ve lived to long to be unsure.

Sure that my 15 years allow for certainty!

At least…

that’s what I wish for.

I wish for constancy.

I’m afraid of change, yet change is all I am.

It’s all anyone is at my age,

stuck in the middle of their very first crisis.

“Who are we?” We cry. “What do we want and why?”

And I think I know.

That is until the clock strikes midnight

and everything pours out again, ideas all over the floor.

I’m searching for a label, searching for a place where I feel at home.

I’m so confused by the world I’m defined by it.

The only labels that stick have to do with a lack of something,

my confusions so stuck in that they become my identity.

Asexual

Aromantic

Agender

Atheist

I think I am all of these things, and yet am I?

Will I one day understand?

I’m not sure.

And isn’t that the crux of it!