existential crisis

i am the mundane

i feel so many things

but i spend my days attempting to conceal it

i have wings upon which i am sure i could fly

that i compress under the pressure

of my pathetic, self-inflicted inferiority complex

i am the mundane

i am not the spoken about

nor am i the one occupying any one person's thoughts

i may not be invisible

but i do not linger

the walls surrounding me are closing in and

my stomach rejects any thought of nourishment

my dreams keep shocking me awake but i cannot scream

i have so many stories to tell

but they all seem to pale in comparison

whenever someone else speaks up

i am the average

i am not ugly but i am by no means pretty

(although you would say "no, you're breathtaking" with a warm smile that would melt my frozen heart)

my words are by no definition astounding

but i thrive on them

(however you said once that my words are beautiful and therefore don't deserve to be read by unbeautiful people)

I have no quirks, nothing unique that I can boast about

(i wonder what your argument against that might be)

i stay idle in the same place

for hours on end

(but you give me validation because i am not lazy and i accomplish more than i give myself credit for)

i constantly find myself trapped in this hole

knowing full well that I dug it myself

but now, i can claw myself out

because i am not alone.

I am average (you see me as amazing)

You are incredible (you see yourself as sub-par)

I suppose we are two sides of the same self-loathing coin.

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