I don’t know myself.
Sure, I know what I like and dislike. Everyone who’s lived with themselves should know this.
But do I really know myself, just from my likes and dislikes?
Do I know how I truly act in front others?
How I act in front of myself?
Why I act in a certain way? Why I find myself happy one moment—
And then suddenly angry the next—
And then depressed the next—
And in the end—
The overwhelming,
Drowning, yet
rational feeling,
Telling me, over and over,
“No one will understand you.
Stop acting crazy.
Why are you even like this.”
No loud screaming,
No over-the-top crying,
No excessive movements.
I silently churn out feelings
In bed, with tears on the pillow
When no one else is around me.
When I’m alone
At 12:35 a.m,
Sunday.