Introspection
No one is perfect.
I bite my nails, scratch my back against trees,
Almost always say thank you but I never say please,
I’m socially awkward and I hate public speaking
And eat onions until my skin begins reeking,
I’ve no patience for small inconveniences,
But for the stupid I have so much lenience,
Yet ignorance and bigotry, they make me explode
But I keep it all inside my head until a load
Weighs down on my back like an anvil
Until life is more than I can handle.
I try to be the best parent I can
But sometimes I yell and I don’t have a plan.
My testosterone level is low: nonexistent.
My views about myself are all inconsistent.
I’m afraid of loud noise and I suffer most from
Anxiety, PTSD and a numb
Sort of feeling I get when I think to the past,
Though the future is something that comes on too fast.
And I’m writing a book that nobody wants to read
And it makes me want to stop and concede
That I can’t be a writer, I’m only a dreamer:
A cold and a bitter cantankerous schemer
Who’s not afraid of failure or death, and yet
These ideas become toxins my brain can’t forget
And my mind is on fire as my heart grows colder,
And suddenly I am afraid to grow older.
I try to be around all the people I trust
And then hightail it back to my bedroom. I just
Want to find peace in a world of brimstone
But it’s hard to find peace when you feel so alone.
And that’s another thing about myself that I hate.
I’m not alone at all, and my life is great!
But I still feel a connection to people in need,
Yet my life is filled with comfort and greed,
And I think about how easy this would all be
If I believed in God.
