I could blame this all on my mother –
My complete inability to be satisfied,
And my wish to be another,
Kind of person who holds pride inside,
For the person I can prove to be,
And the beliefs that I hold close to me.
I could wish that I were dead,
Due to the thoughts I cannot silence,
And the feeling of impending dread,
But that would be pious,
Manifesting my negative words instead.
I could be disappointed with myself,
And never applaud the things I do,
So that these negative feelings can be felt,
And I have nothing left to pursue,
Since I lack a belief in the strength I keep.
I could cry and yell and fall down again,
Leaving me a mess of unrecognizable emotion,
Feeling like my life is caving in,
And unsure how to begin again.
I could hate myself and all that I do,
Leaving everything to be disappointing,
And nothing to be true,
To the person I am avoiding,
And the actions I cannot undo.
I could despise the person I have become,
Leaving me with a world of hate,
And desperate attempts at feeling numb.
I could never let let this go,
And always allow disappointment to show.
I could make this true.
But in truth,
That is what I already do.