I am rambling through a dark space
That is my mind.
I feel so unworthy.
I never see the good things I do.
I donβt pat myself on the back.
I donβt cheer myself up.
Nothing I do is ever enough,
I am never enough
For myself.
I can always do better.
Instead of using that as encouragement
I use it as judgment.
I am tired and weary.
I have had enough of these feelings,
In my world where nothing
Is ever enough.
I am chained by reality
And the paralyzing
Self abuse.
All my achievements
Are blown in the wind
Like the white tufts
Of a Groundsel
In autumn.
A fog screen
Is blinding me from sight
Of my everyday
Nobilities.
I want to feel pink and yellow
And I feel gray.
I want to feel joyous, in bloom
And I donβt know how.
I forget the good
And remember the pain.
It was carved in me with
A blunt bladed knife.
All I do feels insufficient.
Looking from the outside
I do much, I achieve much.
All is invisible
Through my scrutinizing eyes.
I donβt know how to change,
I try everyday.
Itβs like I donβt understand,
The work will only be done
When I am dead.
Every day is a full cycle
Of achievements.
Life in its entirety
Is not an achievement,
It is just life.
Who I am is a sum of actions,
Spreading love.
I do that. I feel it is not enough.
I try to do it more.
I understand so many things,
And still my work feels
Like it doesnβt mean a thing.
I take my love and tenderness
And relentlessly smash them
With a big, steel hammer
Without shame or mercy.
I do it in a dark room with
One window,
Gray walls,
Completely empty.
I am a man
In a black, leather mask
And I tear myself down.
A woman
Would never
Do this.
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