i would be lying to myself
if i thought i had any sense
of control

my life has never been mine
i’ve been living for other people
for as long as i can remember

i’m easily turned into mush
squished down into
a pathetic
little gooey puddle
of insecurities
and uncertainty
that have been forced onto me
by the people
who were supposed
to care for me

i guess what i’m trying to say
is that i’m not a real person
i’m like pinocchio
trying to cut my own strings
but my arms aren’t long enough
to reach them

so instead
i’m tangled up in knots
and i’m lost
along
the constant ticks
of my clock
as time wears me down
trying to push me to feel
things i don’t want
to be real
the dusty memories stacked up
in the back of my mind
are trying to find me

and i’m scared
i am so afraid of myself
of my own mind

i never wanted to know myself this well

Arlo Disarray©