Going on With the Show

Even in the most miraculous
moments of our lives,
sadness seems to step
its way into our lives
in such a short time.

It steals away any sense
of self worth
we once thought
we may have obtained.

Sitting around
watching it
slowly circle the drain
does what exactly?

As much as we love swimming
in a puddle of self pity,
at some point
we've got to get our
faces out of the mud
and move on.

Cut Me Down to Size (Sinking Ship Self Esteem Mentality)

When I start to realize how much of a nothing I really am,

I find it fitting to forget anyone

who's ever made me feel that way about myself.

However daunting that may be,

 it means I must also forget myself.

It's far too easy to scorn myself,

despite how insignificant or significant

the deeds I do may be.

It's far too unfair

to be the biggest constant failure

to no one but myself.

I'm a sinking ship self esteem mentality

which is incredibly difficult to crack,

so I ask myself,

"Where has any of this ever gotten me?"

I still let these feelings walk all over me every single day,

I let my entire life sail right by me after all these years

and just lived with the frustration of never being enough.

So, how do they affect me?

In every single way.

They rob me of my voice

often leaving me quiet

in a room full of conversation.

They take over and leave me exhausted,

fighting just to feel better.

They make me shy in situations

where I really need to speak up

and cause me to close my mouth

when I have the opportunity to open up.

They make me the least important person to ever exist.

The worst part of living in my ship wrecked mind

is that I always automatically assume

that everyone feels the same way about myself as I do.

The Unfortunate Insomnia Attack

A tired mind like mine

whispers a thought of forgetfulness
into the ear of no one to hear.

It says,
"Forget this,
forget that,
go to bed,
get some rest."

So why doesn't my body just obey?

Instead, it's 3:00 AM
and I'm wide awake,
bothered by everything
I need to accomplish
in order to complete
this endless list of things to do.

"Write it down,"
they say
then you'll be able to sleep at night
and start the day with a fresh face.

Oh, but if THEY only knew
how every list is a contract
that I sign inside my mind
on some sort of imaginary deadline.

Which only ever weighs
on my tired mind even more.

So despite
the painful pressure to sleep,
I put it off until every item
on the list is checked
and my mind can finally
be freed from forgetfulness.

The Cynical Side of Myself

I'm stuck in a place where I can't find
a single positive thing about myself.

It seems as if it doesn't matter how much
I try to counteract my own misdemeanor.

I'm still the same sorry worthless someone
in my uncomfortable mind.

I don't speak up,

because it's not worth speaking
about how I need to disregard myself.

Still, I can only set aside
how I truly feel for so long
until my significance
fades away in to failure,

and at that point
my head starts to ache
from holding back every tear
that I'm capable of holding.

Faith gets harder and harder to find,
and my desire to survive
in a world like this diminishes.

I never thought I'd ever be the type
to give in to unhappiness,
but it reared it's head at me today.

It All Happens Quickly, in the Same Moment, and Then It's Over as Fast as It Began

Even after all the good days,
once in a while there are still days
when my mood matches melancholy.

Days when I desperately want to say,
"Please care"
but still don't expect you to.

Then there are also days of
exaggerated elation,
a euphoria that eventually leads
to the unpleasant anticipation

of anxiety,

and so the cycles runs around
every now and again.
The trick is coping
with the instinct
we call emotion.

Trying to Remember What I Use to Want to Forget

In a place where my bed smells like gasoline,
and my head's full of dreams,
the nurse gives me a glance
as I cry, "I want to go home."

She stands by me and says,
"I know"
as she kindly reminds me
that I'm not well enough
to be anywhere but where I am.

She offered nothing but a hug
to the pathetic patient I felt I was,
because not much makes you feel smaller
than missing your mind.

I sat on my hospital bed
with the window behind me,
I did a thing or two
I don't remember.

I begged for a bit of home
to help me sleep at night,
but anything anyone brings to me
will be lost among all the other patients.

A girl named Gloria is telling me
not to give up hope,
she convinces me that prayer
and going to groups will get me home.

She was a patient herself and offered a prayer for me,
which didn't mean much at the time,
since I didn't even understand where I was, or why I was there,
but somehow it sure means a lot to me now.

In the end, they sent me home early,
but only at the cost of more mental anguish,
and a longer stay at somewhere
that somehow seemed to fix me.

The Inevitable Thoughts of the Ego

 Here I am,

doing absolutely nothing with my life,
or so you seem to think,

so here I sit thinking about

if it's even worth my time

to try anything other

than what I was intended to do,

but it always leads to a dead end.

There's nothing better than running

into a wall full speed with no brakes,

but that's what life is like for me.

It seems so often

that I find myself going

dangerously into a direction

that leads to my destruction,

but sadly,

it's all a delusion

and I know that I'm the only one

who views myself this way.

The you I speak of is me,

I fight myself everyday

and it doesn't matter

whether I win or lose

because I always win

and I always lose.

The hardest part is remembering that

whether or not I'm like all the rest of you,

somehow,

I've still got my own job to do.

Crickets Are My Quiet Mind

I hear crickets in a quiet room

where there are none to be found

and I can't quite tell

if it's an auditory hallucination

or tinnitus ringing in my ears.

Insecurity sets in,  

and reminds me of all

the anxieties I once had.

Memories of being told

that I'm unstable

by the unprofessionals rush in,

I remember not to over think this.

Sometimes crickets are just crickets

and it's okay to accept

that no one else can hear them

chirping away in my ear.

Compassion Can Kill the Compassionate

This must be a line from my design,
the design God designated for me.

The one he wrote down
in the book of who I was
long before my body ever belonged
in this existence.

It's the line where I have compassion
despite being destroyed,
the line where I care
despite your belligerence.

See, He drew that line so thin
that you're ALMOST always able
to walk right over it.

I know that probably wasn't the way
it was intended it to be used,
but maybe it was originally
intended for fairness,
as a way to see each situation equally.

I'll always have to be careful
of who I let cross,
or you'll be walking all over me
instead of just over the line.

Something I Recall Seeing Recently.

Body image is in the eye of the beholder,

and there I saw it written in pencil,
a message on the dressing room wall
next to the tall, slim mirror.

Slightly faded, it read,

"You're beautiful, don't hate what you see."

The dressing room vandal seemed so insightful
until a few inches below I see, in dark pen,

"but they're watching you, so look your best."

Somehow it just seemed like a positive message
was taken advantage of,
flipped into a joke by a faceless fool
who thought that she was amusing.

So here's a bit of advice for you vandals,
if you've got something important to say
don't write it on a dressing room wall,

but be sure to write it bold enough
to overcome oppression.