Here I am pretending to write,
Maybe I am,
Maybe I’m not.
I want to get my way,
Maybe that’s the reason that I’m so behaved.
And yet, it feels like something more.
Like more than a torturous chore
That I do just to be needy,
Just to get....
I’ve let so many people get in my head
That I blame myself for my mental health.
I’ve been inside my head for so long that I do not remember how it felt
To be normal.
They say that normal doesn’t exist,
But I believe that something beyond this
And yet, I will never be it
Because I insist on behaving this way.
I insist on explaining my actions to myself
Within my own brain
When I can simply
Or can I?
Can I stop something that is not in my
Can I explain how I cannot control what
Others can control?
I cannot sign my name to an adjective that
Is not me.
I cannot give that kind of control to those
That wish to see me fail.
I am the saboteur.
I am the sailor,
Clinging desperately to the sails
Over the wails
And the wails of the wind and sea.
I am the ocean,
Crying, Crying out:
“Let me win, let me win!”
I am the boat,
Stuck between these two;
Between the dark and the darker.
For when one looks up,
They see sunlight.
When I look up, I see wind, rain, cold,
When I look down, I see wet and dark,
Cold and mystery.
How will history replay this event
If I’ve decided that the mystery is better
Than the pain?
What if I’d rather take a chance then
Continue with this waning dance?
My solution is dissolution.