I'm not entirely proud of all the things I have done,
nor am I satisfied with how things have turned out.
While I may have had relative misfortune,
there are countless people who have had it worse.
Therefore, who am I to say I am sad?
But the logic of saying you can't be sad because some have it worse,
is like saying others can't be happy because some have it better.
Plenty of things have happened to me,
that I wouldn't wish on my enemies.
I couldn't.
Because I know the pain that comes with.
Because I know the truth.
Because wildest imaginations cannot explain the agony.
So I had to find the reason.
Of all people in the entire world,
why me?
I never worked hard enough.
I was never smart enough.
I was never strong enough.
I was never skilled enough.
I was never good enough.
At least that was what I was told.
Being told this, over and over
you start to believe it.
You live it.
To the point where I constantly am confused
when good things happen.
When good people are nice.
I struggle to grasp when these people
say that they like me
that they value me.
I struggle to grasp that
because I don't like me.
I don't get how people could.
The torment I experience
at this point in my life is self inflicted.
Because I won't let anyone have the chance
to get close.
Its too much.
Comfort is foreign.
Relaxed is nonexistent.
Always in a state of peril.
People deserve comfort and relaxation.
But my life has told me, that I do not qualify.
I hate that.
I wish things were different.
I wish I was someone else.
But then someone would have to be me.
And that's not fair to them.
So I'll take this backpack of suffering,
knowing someone better than me
doesn't need to be weighed down.