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My Best Life Is Just Waiting For Me

To make the necessary changes

By Colleen Millsteed Published 3 years ago 2 min read
7
My Best Life Is Just Waiting For Me
Photo by Robert Wiedemann on Unsplash

There’s so much I want to do in my life

And I am well aware it’s totally up to me,

If I could make certain changes to my days

My Best Life is just awaiting patiently.

***

I know I should make the effort to go out more

Especially to expand my circle of friends,

I find the idea absolutely terrifying

So I live my life and continue to pretend.

***

My Best Life would be a little closer

If I was to become more active physically,

Exercise, yoga, dance the night away

But by days end I’m exhausted typically.

***

I would like to free up some time

To spend helping out people in need,

Volunteering in some small way

Find some sort of purpose indeed.

***

Travel more, learn about different cultures

Spend more time in nature to de-stress,

Start that new hobby I’ve dreamed of

Practice gratitude and know I’m blessed.

***

Change my everyday job and career

Or better yet, resign and happily retire,

Explore more of our beautiful country

Spend a lot more time around a campfire.

***

If I still want to work or make a living

Do so in a more creative and artistic way,

Write, renovate houses or flip furniture

All projects I want to try some day.

***

But besides all of my thoughts above

If I was truly brutally honest I’d not deny,

To live my life, my absolute Best Life

My people skills need to be modified.

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If you liked my writing, please click on the small heart underneath, near my name. Or send me a tip and let me know you enjoyed it.

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Please click the link below my name to read more of my work. I would also like to thank you for taking the time to read this today and for all your support.

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Originally posted on Medium

surreal poetry
7

About the Creator

Colleen Millsteed

My first love is poetry — it’s like a desperate need to write, to free up space in my mind, to escape the constant noise in my head. Most of the time the poems write themselves — I’m just the conduit holding the metaphorical pen.

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