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Overachieving

Here's the test I scored well on.

Here's the competition I won an award in.

Is it enough for you? Will I be allowed happiness?

Can I talk to human beings again and pretend I am one of them?

The past year, no, two years, no, five, no -

The past over-a-decade has been nothing but more

so much more that whenever someone says "burnout is bad!"

I think inside, "I lived it; I breathed it; I became it; sounds like you just have a skill issue."

And I'm a terrible person for thinking that. If it hurt for me, it'll hurt for them.

But god damn if I have something else I'm proud of taken away from me again.

I come back with a 95. You ask, "why isn't it 96? 97? 100?" Or maybe you don't care. Just see that it's an 'A' and forget it by tomorrow.

I come back saying I did well. You ask, "and how exactly? What did you do? What did everyone else think?"

And I tell you because I'm a good child and I'm still that naive pushover who thinks the world is good and you are still family

And inside I pack up another bottle of anger and disappointment of various kinds of both you and myself.

And in the end I've had enough. You taught me how to shorten my fuse, and I've tried to make it last a little longer but you burn so hot.

I tell you to shut up and wait for the results. And inside I think but don't say: "You fucking asshole. Piece of shit that can't bother to be proud of their own child for fucking once."

So tired of your shit. So tired of being a good person to you because you're just an ass and you can't change that.

So tired of pushing forwards all the time. So tired of being pushed forwards all the time. Can't do it myself like a real human being.

So tired of being this mess who can't pull themselves together like a normal person. So tired of procrastinating and crying and sitting here wallowing in the exact same cesspool of angst.

So tired of doing everything wrong and right and being the perfect idiot child and pushing forwards and wading back and the whole fucking thing.

I'm just so, so fucking tired.

There Once Was A Child

There once was a boy who hated himself

for he was afraid of punishment, afraid of failure

so he looked to the world for happiness and joy

and only found short-lived self-deprecating jokes

There once was a boy who thought he was happy

but every day when he came home

tired of his happy clownish facade

he sat down in his chair and thought

as both the jester and the king

in his own court of delusion

There once was a man who knew what went wrong

who hated those who made him go oh so wrong

but inside, deep down, the same man that knew

also knew it was unfair to hate those who wronged him

so the boy kept it inside, the smoldering rage

for he was not a man yet, not in body nor in mind

There once was a boy who convinced himself

that he was happy enough to live in the moment

nevermind the man in his head who told him

about all the things he did wrong, or the wrongs done to him

he was content to live in the moment with the joy of friendship

until that friendship was shattered in every single way

There was once a boy who loved those who wronged him

for he was full of that childish love to give to those undeserving

until the young man burst out with the greatest anger

to speak his mind and wield his fist in the most primal way

for those who had wronged him had aged too much to wrong again

and it was now his turn to wrong them, and assert his own power

but those who had wronged him had aged too much to wrong again

and so the child stopped him, for the child was naive,

and the child still loved all.

There is now only a child who wallows in anger and doubt

about who he is, why he is, and what he should do

who had all the love to give others but found none at all from them

and can no longer love for the sake of love

but only for the hope that someone will love him back

There is now only a man who is thoroughly dissappointed

at the weakness of the child and the perpetuation of failure

who explained how to win as the child chose to lose

for he was only a child who had never felt love

and naively gave away his soul along with his love

and these two continue to bicker and fight

about who was right and who was wrong

and as always only time will tell

only after it is already too late

The Temptation of Silence

Oh, how tempting that mistress is,

to be shut away and not a bother to nobody,

To make absolutely no-one the sadder

by reciting the same pains that ailed them.

Oh, how tempting that emptiness is,

to be quiet and subdued and unnoticed,

To make absolutely nothing go worse than it already has

by moving again to the great god of failure.

Oh, how tempting that nothingness is,

to be perfect and nonexistent and unbothered,

To make absolutely everything nothing, and nothing everything

by emptying the whole world of its contents.

Oh, how tempting that silence is,

to destroy my self in mine own vainglory.

hmmmm... should I deprive myself of human interaction...?

How Much of Me Is the Real Me

How much of me is the real me

and how much is what you put in there?

How much of me is what I really really want

and how much is what you've told me to want?

What part of me is the real, genuine article

and what part is the seeds you've planted?

What part of me is my blood, sweat, and tears

and what part is the loan you gave to a grave with my name on it?

Which notes in my melody come from my own mind and thought

and which notes are copied from a song I already forgot?

Which notes in my melody are beautiful, strong, soft, and cheery

and which notes are the discord you've sown?

What part of me is the part gives and seeks love?

and what part is the one that hates all it sees?

What part of me is the part that I should keep?

and what part should I leave behind?

How much of me is the real me?

and how much is your god-damned meddling?

Depression is a Drug

Depression is a drug

and I think I have become addicted

To that sense of despair.

It tells me, softly:

"it's okay. Nothing matters anymore."

"You can be as lazy as you want."

But what's more is that

I have built up a tolerance

and it no longer excites me.

I am no longer enthralled

By the infinite sadness.

I am only bored by it.

I want for more.

I hope for the moments that crush my soul.

The moments where the guilt and anger and sadness come in waves.

I look for the moments where my soul goes dark and my heart empties out.

But I am stuck in the quagmire of boring, base sadness.

and I am still controlled by it.

Hello, who are you? I wish to know your story. I see poetry blogs like these, I see them in their void; posting tagless, just screaming out, and I grow so curious. If you’re interested in giving an autobiography to a stranger, just say and I will dm you. My account is anonymous pretty much too.

yall is this some kind of scam or something

What It Means To Vote

Lies, lies, lies, all the way down.

Do you ever really stop and think about who you're even talking about?

Do you ever think who gains off cheating you? Who wants you to stay stupid?

Do you ever think about what it means to vote?

You are deciding the fate of a society. You choose feast or famine.

So why, really, do you choose the man who has lied to you time and time again?

Why do you want the man who has shot you and left you for dead?

What the actual fuck is going on inside your head?

Do words even matter to you anymore? Do kindness and empathy mean nothing?

Are you just another sock-puppet of that moneybag in a suit?

Do you not see the bigger picture? The bots, the trolls, the media diversions?

Do you ever even think about what your vote really means?

A rapist, a felon, impeached twice, started an insurgency.

Do you even hear yourself? Do you even look at the man you're touting?

Black guy, have you seen the racism he perpetuates? Woman, have you seen the sexism he himself partakes in? Immigrants, have you seen what he wants to do to you?

Do any of you - any of you - really think about what it means to vote for this man?

So cute. So fluffy. So adorable.

Decisions

So many decisions all the time.

Like a hydra, each head popping out two more

and each of those heads doubling up again

like it wasn't decision-anxiety-inducing enough at the start.

And that's all very well and good if you didn't force me to interact

but nooooooooo I have to actually choose the singular right one

or at least one of the few close enough to the right one

which, of course, is none, since the only "close enough" is on the dot.

You know what? Take it away from me.

You're the smartass here. You know which one is correct.

Why don't you do it? Take my autonomy away from me, pilot my life?

Anyways you clearly know how your hydra works. Won't that help mine?

But no, you have to hide the whole concept of the hydra away from me

Making it my fault whenever you hit the wrong head like a fucking idiot

So that when I am first introduced to it I am met with a thousand heads

and little clueless me is told "yeah that's your fucking problem I quit."

And with each wrong, clueless swing I make

the number of heads only ticks higher