I have a horrible tendency to take things too personally
To the point of tears and anger and losing my temper to the Aries hiding in my chest.
I cling tight to past wrongs and embarrassments, much longer than I suppose I should.
I criticize to the point of cruelty, a dark narrative of flinging insults from one lobe to another,
But don't worry, I get my fair share.
I judge more often than a public servant, and my sentences are always strict.
I wage war on a social anxiety that is, was, and always will be myself,
And even if the anxiety recedes, the weariness of battle ensures a losing result.
I live to escape the life I'm living;
In the stories I read, I am the brave one, the right one, the fearless daredevil:
I exercise regularly, do back flips as a hobby, and have no fear of microphones.

I talk entirely way too much about myself.
Give me a crisis and I'll make it about me.
Tell me you're having a hard time right now,
And it'll somehow be my fault.
If it's not my fault,
It'll somehow become about how my relationship with my mother has deteriorated to me listening to her last voicemail to me two years ago
Or how I fell through the rotten floor of our trailer when I was nine.
Can't think of a subject? I'll just talk about myself.
Don't believe me? Just read this poem.