I look into the mirror,
And see my reflection.
It has changed so much,
Changed from when I was a child.

Tears sting my eyes,
Since I don't see the same face anymore.
I'm NOT the same person anymore.
My mind isn't tiny anymore.

I see traces of my family,
Inside my eyes,
Traces of me,
Inside my words.

But I cannot be the same person
Again.
I can't love the child,
That I once was.

I always wanted to grow up,
Now that dream came true.
I could never treasure the days being a child,
I am forever doomed.

My only wish is to be young again,
Free again.
But God has made His decision,
I can never be.

And now I'm looking at a mirror,
As a flashback washes over me,
I hate myself for what I did.
I hate that I never loved me.

I only have this mirror,
To remind me of my mistakes.
But at least I can go back,
And love the way I lived.

Sometimes it just feels like what you thought was your purpose in this life has been buried under the weight of the expectations of others

or leftover guilt

or a series of catastrophically poor decisions.

And you look around and see it all:  

the beauty
and horror
the good
and the awful

and you hate yourself for taking advantage of your peace and safety and relative health, complaining instead that you're lonely and lost.

But sometimes, man,
sometimes you just don't want to get out of bed because you know that it all:

the beauty
and horror
the good
and awful
the loneliness
and questioning
the self-disgust

is going to be there until the end of time, and your body is gathering rust, it's so heavy, pinned under all of that weight
(stupid brain so concerned with the micro and macro)
so you roll over and try to black it all out.

I mean, you have to keep going.
You have to.
Other people do.
People suffer every day and keep going.

There is nothing special or urgent or interesting or even particularly DESERVED when it comes to your silly problems.

But it doesn't mean that they're not there.

The whole world is suffering, and we don't know where the band aids are.

We knew thee of old,
  Oh divinely restored,
By the light of thine eyes
  And the light of thy Sword.

From the graves of our slain
  Shall thy valour prevail
As we greet thee again—
  Hail, Liberty! Hail!

Long time didst thou dwell
  Mid the peoples that mourn,
Awaiting some voice
  That should bid thee return.

Ah, slow broke that day
  And no man dared call,
For the shadow of tyranny
  Lay over all:

And we saw thee sad-eyed,
  The tears on thy cheeks
While thy raiment was dyed
  In the blood of the Greeks.

Yet, behold now thy sons
  With impetuous breath
Go forth to the fight
  Seeking Freedom or Death.

From the graves of our slain
  Shall thy valour prevail
As we greet thee again—
  Hail, Liberty! Hail!

I'm strapped for battle, and prepared for war, so societally sacrilegious make a rich man pray to god for no more, but I'm so subliminally catastrophe ridden that I'll take off like a ***** mcdonalds napkin blown from the hands of a man that was shown the true depth of his wager with sin, because I've been looking within and inside the size of my fevered lies that I tell myself at night so I can close my eyes, and stifle out the cries of the boy who staked his soul in the rise of his own demise