I have this dream, see
And I’ve had it since I was kid. Maybe ten years old.
And ten years later I’m still pursuing it.
I have this dream, see.
And I know I can’t fail.
I can’t tell you how I know.
All I know is that I know I can’t fail.
I have this dream see.
And I know I can’t fail.
I’ve been working towards it all my life.
So the question of if I fail
has become my major anxiety.
All from this one dream, you see.
My mom would always tell that I’m special, as moms often do.
And others would say that they could see my potential, as one often does to kids.
And growing up I was different, even my friends could vouch for that.
Unfortunately, not every ugly duckling grows up to be a swan.
Last night when I laid down to sleep
I closed my eyes, the voice started to creep.
It started as a quiet thought, but grew so loud
that this voice in my head took control of my mouth.
“Kill yourself. Kill yourself. Kill yourself.”
It had unsaid reasons that I knew all about
I couldn’t argue with any of the voice’s sounds.
In all that, to me, the weirdest thing
and why I haven’t shared these thoughts that cling–
despite knowing it will only worsen–
that thing that I find the most embarrassing
is that I talk to myself in the second person.
Thinking at night I come apart
that I dragged you all in just to come apart.
I didn’t think we become so undone
but I’m not sure what else can be done
with all that’s been said and all that’s been done.
In sweat I woke to the morning cold,
Road on road covered in foggy mist.
Tried to find comfort in lies I’ve told,
But as I look down that cold, cold road,
I thought, ‘there’s no point in doing this.’
There was no choice in these concrete woods
Or none that any difference make.
And I thought of the road I took
And remembered what I always could…
That path I could always take.
And with those thoughts standing idly by,
Picturing that shortcut to the end.
I stood on that no-choice road and I–
I chose to walk down that road not mine
And that has made all the difference.
it’s scary how scary the sanctuary can be.
maybe by praying, God can rescue me.
Jesus, Joseph, Mother Mary,
the Father, the Spirit,
Christ i’d pray to the tooth fairy.
i’m going crazy, just waiting for someone to hear me out
waiting for anyone to get me out
before my demons get me now.
maybe the key is to let them get me
apparently there’s no one left to save me now.
You looked off camera.
Guess all that theatre experience didn’t prepare you for this.
Dad leaned over your chair to show us the full picture. You could see how hard he was trying by the veins in his head.
You could see the strain on his face as he wheeled you around the sunny day.
He was smiling with everything but his eyes.
And yours? You just kept looking off into the distance. Not blinking. Not moving.
Apparently you were eating, but I couldn’t see you chewing.
Apparently you were breathing on your own now, but I couldn’t see anything.
No movement, no life, no light in your eyes.
I hope you could see or feel that day was nice at least.
I’m sorry I kept looking away. My eyes
looking for something a little simpler to understand.
And for running away to a class I knew I’d be late to.
I guess I’m sorry for a lot more. To you. And to mom and dad too.
i wonder if i’ll be happy.
i wonder if, when i’m eighty and i look back, i’ll think it was worth it.
i wonder what my purpose is.
i wonder what love is.
i wonder if i’ll be a good husband
if i’ll love my son or daughter
or if i’ll be caught up with work and finances and
the rest of life that i end up not living.
i wonder if i’ll lose track of the big important things
because of the small details
or if i’ll find a way to focus on the small good things
during the big nasty trials.
i wonder if i’ll be alright.
I always said that I’d die by 21. Looking up at frighteningly unfamiliar leaves as I realize “what a grotesque thing a rose is.”
I turned 22 this year. But if the last six months are indicative of something, I shouldn’t have turned 22.
you’d think that’s all you need.
But that’s not
no true. Or so it seems.
I don’t know what to do or how to act.
I don’t know how to be. Me.
It might make me happy
but this anxiety is overtaking.
But I’m stuck.
I can’t move away or go closer or just be me.
When did this get so
When did this go so
The situation that forced confession
that last night, your big fight.
This shit show. Confusion.
I’d be happy to do nothing with you.