Poem: I have no other plans

I have no other plans

and nothing more to think of,
nothing else to consider
as an option, and I can't
have it be nothing
or not anything 
that is good or right,
and no, I don't want
another night instead,
don't want to pretend
and say that is fine,
which is just
another way
of pretending
that what is not right
is good, or enough,
and I feel stupid
and like a jerk
and selfish about it,
and that is all right, isn't it?
It is true, I guess,
and it shouldn't be that way,
I suppose, but it's not everything,
it is just this, is just
or maybe not, I suppose.
I am not unaware,
but I have to accept it,
I think. I don't know
how to make it
anything else.

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