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Me / A Journal of Sorts / 9.20.16

My mind is the hole where my thoughts go to die

And I can’t get them out tho I try and I try

Word go in dying just to be said

To find that my brain is an eternal “code red”

I think of my thoughts until they’re all thunk

By then, the ships have been sailed and then sunk

I plan out my statements with tact and finesse 

But still they come out jumbled, for my head is a mess

I over-think walking, or breathing; taking a drink

But I find, when I need to, I don’t really think

I find, when it’s needed, my brain doesn’t care

I space out and daydream, with a long holding stare

Broken and blistered my words come out bruised

If I have many talents, they all are abused

My face has gone green from my habits I hate

But I’ll keep on the road to not relocate

I laugh at my own jokes, tho I know they’re not funny

And I squint at the sky even when it’s not sunny

I find that I find the worst reasons for sadness

And that is the culprit behind all of this madness

I am never emotive when I feel I should be

But at all the wrong moments tears leak out of me

I do many things that I rather would not

Like standing in sun and complaining it’s hot.

Like forgetting my words, and forgetting a joke

Then laughing while drinking and beginning to choke

Like losing my way and losing my head

And how often I spend too much morning in bed

Drinking too much coffee to be someone I’m not,

And letting guilt stew and leaving feelings to rot

Not understanding a concept and not asking why

To examining all of my faults when I cry

To hating myself for the things I don’t say

To not giving in to the feelings that just won’t go away.

Staying up late til eyes tired and red

Stumble home sadly to sink in my bed

Like wanting attention but then none at all

Like my shill Yelp when I’m beginning to fall

I think I am terrible when the going gets hot,

But think I’m fantastic when it is not

There is so much more of myself to be said, 

But I’m going to hate myself more if I don’t go to bed

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