expectations are a dangerous game
prefacing 2 a.m. thoughts
4 a.m. wakes
6 a.m. alarms
and 8 a.m. lattes

always
expecting something out of nothing
but getting nothing out of everything
expecting to find who you are
but learning who you are not

sometimes
the expectations are when pale
reality looks at them
and wipes them clean
like reflections in a dirty mirror

never
do expectations go away
expecting classmates
but making friends
expecting a house
but building a home

expecting to be enough
but realizing you are more
and more and more
than enough

so much so
that enoughs are flowing
from your neckline and sleeves
zippers unwinding as they please

so much so
that “enough” is an insult
to who you will be
and what you will see

so much so
that you write this poem
with its tired nouns
and fibrous verbs
to show what you think