I think the worst part of all of it
Was I wanted to be that brother.

I mean, grander scope,

The person I am is not who I want to be.

Not even in the changeable sense.
Sometimes I just wish I worked differently.

The saddest part is, by wishing, by longing for that
I'm longing for not me,
and I like me.

I am me.

I mean we could delve into this psychologically: the ideal self.
We could run me through with philosophy, and in reality, this piece is going far from the ideal.

I write stream of thought, can you tell?

None of this is ever planned. I literally ***** on paper [that's electronic], similar to that artist who vomits colored milk, except, you know, with words.
I can't quite turn it into music yet.
That'll come later on, I suppose.

I thank God for what I am.
It's just a struggle, because I want to be better than me;
While He's happy with me, sometimes I'm not.

I saw her face tonight,
and I want to be with the person I perceived
Not the person she is.
She's beautiful though, of that there's no doubt.
I hope she finds someone for her.
She deserves him, and he her.

But I want mine,
and maybe there isn't one,
and I want to be ok with that too.