I wasn't myself at all, this year.
Or maybe I should say that I was me
as much as I could. Look into my
mental health trough my words.

We foresee ourselves as the resolved version
of an unsolvable mathematical problem.
I see a picture of me, alongside other people,
and feel like I´m a photoshopped image,
which is pretty much how I feel most of the time.

I like to think of it
as a philosophical matter,
nothing else. Psychologists,
refrain from commenting.
Otherwise, I imagine myself
giving you the finger.

I also need to mention
that the new ghost is growing
healthy and laughing, behind
the door where it can jump
on my shoulders the minute
I walk in.

On the bright side, someone said
I´m weird but interesting.
The inflection was on the term "weird".
***** it, I´ll take that any day!
Even if it´s only a small battle
that will not win any war.

The problem with this autobiographical poems
is that I never know how to finish'em
and I sense there´s also meaning in this.
With the above being said, I guess I´m still
the same, and that is ******* frightening.