I am a Fraud / A Journal of Sorts / 7.24.18

I am a fraud,

Someday everyone will echo the never-ending chorus in my head that says,

All you ever do is fuck up.

In my nightmares, I have watched them each says it straight to my face,

And I can’t argue.

I won’t say “you’re being a dick”

I nod and cower.

Because how is it not right? 

When have I succeeded with meaning? 

How many times do I act without urgency

How often do I speak out of fear?

I am a leech and I am a fraud. 

And when you take that out of the way,

I am nothing,

Nothing at all. 

I have a proclivity towards vanity

And nothing else.

Always trying to save face,

But never work hard

Unless I’m being watched like a hawk.

Perhaps if I just did, instead of avoided, I could say something to defend myself

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