The million dollar question
I’ve always cried out
to the empty atmosphere is:


Will I ever be enough…
Enough for me?

Everything is purposeless,
Meaningless…
But that can be inverted.
I just want to grasp
some kind of way to live
where I don’t feel
like drowning in a foggy daze.

They don’t tell you
about getting better.
How it will still always hurt as badly
as the early days.
Getting better still means
falling and repeating the parts
you hate the most about yourself..:
You just get up faster or take up a new problem.

I will always battle myself.
I can grow, but the pain remains.
I guess you just learn to react in other ways.
Is that better?
The funny part…
I’m not better at all.
I’ve just learned better
ways to lie to myself.

I’m just scared.
I’m so scared that I’m probably
afraid of being happy.
How do you change to gold
when you were born blue?

The only change I feel
is my new profound
self-preservation and a little voice that wants more…
And then I take that version and force her to just watch.
Watch me break.
Watch me want better for myself after.
Watch me repeat.
Nothing is different.
Just me in a room watching while another me in a room is watching
me self sabotage.

I don’t want
to be complacent
in the familiar pain.
I gotta get out of the
middle of this ocean.