Feb 2023
To anyone who cares enough to care for me, though I couldn't care enough myself...
Take care!
Sigh; why does everything I write turn out to be a poem? Why did I have to be the one so attached to their emotions? Why couldn't I have been a doctor, a lawyer or even a **** mechanic? Instead I'm just this hopeless unheard poet.
I envy people for not what they have, but what I can never be. I can't be a man, and I'd never be a pretty enough woman. Can't stand up for myself, but constantly get cut down when I stand up for others. I've been labelled a ***** by my own brothers.
I know they don't say it in person- but I hear their thoughts in all those disappointing sighs.
And I've disappointed all the women in my life, and still act hopeful that I'll get a wife.
I'm bullied by friends, bullied by strangers Bullied by family, bullied by myself and people's impatience.
This wasn't supposed to be a poem!
Maybe it's a rant; maybe it's a way to cheer me up for not feeling like a man. Thinking about death while listening to jazz. Seems like I'm still far from the end, of a slow death.
Why won't I fall short out of breath, why won't God put me out of my misery because it's a misery being such a disappointment.
I can't trust my dreams, as they lead me to nothing good to hold onto. I trusted someone else's advice, and got accused by them; for being so stupid to listen to them. Then again;
I'd still take their advice again and again
I've been accused of being gay, and maybe my life would have been better if I swung that way.
But okay I could accept that accusation- still not when people say I'm so spoiled, to spoil my mood. Now I'm always doing things just for something to prove.
This wasn't supposed to be a poem!
I guess I couldn't stop these words from flowing. I'm just caught up in my usual emotions.
A note to some, noteworthy ending remarks.
For every tissue to a tear, is a tear to a new scar.
A suicide note to a public, in secret, away from family and friends. I'll be gone by this moment's end- saying goodbye to the old me. See you in ten..
surely this is now an end.
Take care!
Sigh; why does everything I write turn out to be a poem? Why did I have to be the one so attached to their emotions? Why couldn't I have been a doctor, a lawyer or even a **** mechanic? Instead I'm just this hopeless unheard poet.
I envy people for not what they have, but what I can never be. I can't be a man, and I'd never be a pretty enough woman. Can't stand up for myself, but constantly get cut down when I stand up for others. I've been labelled a ***** by my own brothers.
I know they don't say it in person- but I hear their thoughts in all those disappointing sighs.
And I've disappointed all the women in my life, and still act hopeful that I'll get a wife.
I'm bullied by friends, bullied by strangers Bullied by family, bullied by myself and people's impatience.
This wasn't supposed to be a poem!
Maybe it's a rant; maybe it's a way to cheer me up for not feeling like a man. Thinking about death while listening to jazz. Seems like I'm still far from the end, of a slow death.
Why won't I fall short out of breath, why won't God put me out of my misery because it's a misery being such a disappointment.
I can't trust my dreams, as they lead me to nothing good to hold onto. I trusted someone else's advice, and got accused by them; for being so stupid to listen to them. Then again;
I'd still take their advice again and again
I've been accused of being gay, and maybe my life would have been better if I swung that way.
But okay I could accept that accusation- still not when people say I'm so spoiled, to spoil my mood. Now I'm always doing things just for something to prove.
This wasn't supposed to be a poem!
I guess I couldn't stop these words from flowing. I'm just caught up in my usual emotions.
A note to some, noteworthy ending remarks.
For every tissue to a tear, is a tear to a new scar.
A suicide note to a public, in secret, away from family and friends. I'll be gone by this moment's end- saying goodbye to the old me. See you in ten..
surely this is now an end.
