1/2/20
Waiting for this is like watching someone,
Who’s struggling to lift heavy objects.
Knowing there’s work to be done.
But I’m defiant, as when a mob objects.
I see exactly what I dislike in me,
I guess, maybe I could toss it out.
Motivation comes so slowly,
But small steps are how you start.
So I’ll show you who I am,
But I’ll keep the darkest inside.
I’ll hold it back like the Hoover Dam.
Oh, how long can I go on looking dignified?
I’m in the middle of a drought,
In denial, I hold onto every drop.
Yet I haven’t figured it out,
That emotions aren’t meant to stop.
So I’ll give myself a chance,
I’ll give kindness a try.
I’ll surrender like France,
I’ll give into love and comply.
What is my own goodness?
But like a pile of wet leaves,
Or worshipping a false goddess,
Fruitless, like unsuccessful thieves.
Who am I? Who do I want to be?
I know who I was; I’m glad it’s in the past.
Yet these pains, I’ve gotten nowhere, you see?
Just when I thought I’d see the end at last.
When will I stop talking,
And move into danger’s range?
When will I stop writing,
And begin this wretched change?
Jan 27, 2020
Jan 27, 2020 at 9:01 PM UTC
1/2/20
Waiting for this is like watching someone,
Who’s struggling to lift heavy objects.
Knowing there’s work to be done.
But I’m defiant, as when a mob objects.
I see exactly what I dislike in me,
I guess, maybe I could toss it out.
Motivation comes so slowly,
But small steps are how you start.
So I’ll show you who I am,
But I’ll keep the darkest inside.
I’ll hold it back like the Hoover Dam.
Oh, how long can I go on looking dignified?
I’m in the middle of a drought,
In denial, I hold onto every drop.
Yet I haven’t figured it out,
That emotions aren’t meant to stop.
So I’ll give myself a chance,
I’ll give kindness a try.
I’ll surrender like France,
I’ll give into love and comply.
What is my own goodness?
But like a pile of wet leaves,
Or worshipping a false goddess,
Fruitless, like unsuccessful thieves.
Who am I? Who do I want to be?
I know who I was; I’m glad it’s in the past.
Yet these pains, I’ve gotten nowhere, you see?
Just when I thought I’d see the end at last.
When will I stop talking,
And move into danger’s range?
When will I stop writing,
And begin this wretched change?
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