My lack of confidence in myself is a weight I feel I'll always carry.
Its not like I don't have courage, but its like watered down whiskey.
It still has the burn, but it takes a minute to hit me.
They say if you work hard enough you can do anything you want to.
But every time that I try something new.
It always has the same outcome, ashes and smoke.
Like my attempts at creating something to be remembered by, are nothing but a ******* joke.
So excuse me if I'm not as confident as I try to appear.
Sometimes I guess I just get lost in my own fear.
That I'll end up like my father with no job and no life.
To be left with nothing, but two kids and a ******* ex-wife.
I once thought love was the reason why I wanted to write.
Now I realize I do it just so I can sleep better at night.
Because pixels and pens gave me a confidence I've never had before.
I might not be ready to make that jump yet, but I'm getting closer that's for sure.

Its so easy to say someones wrong.
To call another out for all their faults.
To look down on someone because they wear all black.
Or because they sit on the corner and talk like gangstas.
Its so easy to judge someone just because they don't believe in a God.
Or because they're unashamed to walk with their lover, even though they're the same gender.
Its so easy to fit these people with labels.
Instead of looking at them as they are.
As Sons and Daughters.
As Mothers and Fathers.
As Sisters and Brothers.
Yes its easy to hate.
And you'll be at church every Sunday morning....
But the party every Saturday night.
Because while its easy to hate its hard to look for the wrong in yourself.

Now don't get me wrong I believe that Christ came and died for me and you.
But if you actually read that book you love to quote so much.
You would know he came for them too.

So who do you think will go home with him when our eyes finally close?
The atheist that preaches love?
Or the priest who preaches hate?
I suppose only God knows.

This is all I can think of as I lay in the bed I grew up in.
Home to visit the few friends I kept.
But how can I call this home?
I gave up this place, I've spoken out on my hate.
And already its starting to get late, but I can't close my eyes.
Because if I fall asleep those mountains might move and block my escape.
And my family keeps telling me that this town is my fate.
But I believe I can be more. I have to be.
Because right now laying in this bed I grew up in.
I just feel like a puzzle piece **that doesn't fit.

I look in the mirror and what I see looks nothing like me.
The bags under my eyes are nearly gone and my acne is replaced by stubble and razor cuts.
I learned to sleep, but I prefer to stay awake.
Because when I dream I see faces that I miss, the girl that I never kissed.
And possibly never will.
So I take my coffee black just like the ink in my pen.
And I wander through this new town which was kinder to me my first day.
Than the one I came from was to me my whole life.
And I think about my future and question where it leads.
And I look back at my past to look for dots to connect that lead me to my present, but all I see are jagged lines going no where.
At least its good to know one thing never changes.
That I still don't know where I'm going.
But that's okay, because if college has taught me anything yet.
Its that no one does.