She sat beside herself and asked,
“Do you know where this feeling’s from?”
Her self stared back at her, unmasked,
And wondered who she had become.

Who but herself could ever know,
These things she thought that she once knew?
“I barely know you now, and so,
When was the last time you were you?”

The two of them, just her and her,
Each tried her best to understand.
Her self said, “Why are you so sure
You’re not exactly who you planned?”

“I wanted to be you instead,
Before you filled me with regret.”
Her wounded self smiled back and said,
“Perhaps you haven’t been you yet.”

If you think
that world needs us
to show our grit and guts
then my friend,
You are wrong.
It is always a journey
self within.
To decide,
if you wanna stay
or be gone.

Sometimes I find myself drowning in my past
There’s a guilty piece of my conscience I cannot surpass
Too many years I hid myself behind a bottle
Not even in the drivers seat but hitting the throttle
My careless mind destroyed everyone I loved
Tore down any future I had dreamed of
Next I would find comfort in a colorful pill
Just a little something so I couldn’t feel
The addiction had me tangled in barb wire
Everytime I tried to escape it was like adding fuel to the fire
Ending my suffering finally by confronting my fears
Even if it means drowning in a river of my own tears
It may take twice the time to right my wrongs
But I’m okay with that because I’m where I belong

It’s a little hard to admit
Sometimes when I see you
Something
Something still speeds up
Something still recognizes you
Not you but who you used to be and I realize
With a calm cynical cascade of frost
That my life is a lot better without you in it
And I fought you
I fought you on every single inch
But something I've realized
Is that the way you went about it was wrong
You wanted me to let you go but you did it the wrong way
When someone is fighting you and you know that they adore you
Like you were the very last barely running fountain
IN HELL
But you still negated the discomfort
I told you from day one when you wanted to leave
TELL ME
I'd stop pushing my own head underwater
Barely succeeding
In making you happy and what you needed
You belittled me
(I let you)
Only needing me whenever you were feeling insecure about yourself
Yes it would've hurt when you left but what hurts
What hurts
What hurts more is
You
You took the time to grow fangs
You drained my personal vat of happiness
But you left the one for your own
Alone
You took your claws and shredded my own common sense
That you got me so used to it
That I let you
That I automatically would think
"this is how I should be treated."
And if any guy was nice to me after we broke up
I'd think
"What the actual hell are you doing? Do you want something from me?!"
I took a human kindness as someone just talking to me
For profit….
But you
You burned everything away
You smiled
And knew that if you could turn this fierce of a lover
Into that fierce of a self destructive soldier
Face caked in grime
Boots grown out of blood
Sleeves stained red
All of this from a war with myself
And I don't know when the bomb
Stuffed with self loathing
Stopped dropping
I don't know when the bangs in my head
Stopped
But I know that loving you was the hardest thing I put myself through
But I also know
Even though it was my own self created hell
I've changed for the better
I may not be happier
But I've changed

J. Alfred, I'm sick of your whining --
get off your **** and do something!
Yes, I know life is meaningless.
I know you've got a lot of time on your hands.
Of course, tea parties can be boring.
But let me just ask here: "Is someone making you do this?
Is someone making you hang out with these cold, scornful
   women?"
Surely a guy like you could find someone to relate to. It's
    not that hard.

No, you're not Prince Hamlet --
and you're not an attendant lord either.
You're J. Alfred Prufrock!
Eat a peach, for-God's-sake!
Talk to the mermaids!
Just do it!

<Note: It's useful to think of Whoopi Goldberg as the speaker.>

You say
that you're hurt.
That you seek
a fair choice.
Dear one,
even a flower wilts.
When the sun undresses it,
desperate for the maniacal love making;
and the bees **** the honey.
The petals turn dry
when the nectar leaves.
And so it rests on the ground.
Open and wasted;
thus enjoys an eternal sleep.