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Every day used to be so enjoyable,
then suddenly everything is just so miserable.
Lately more than ever, I’ve lost all confidence
and although I don’t want to, I feel worthless.

In everyone’s eyes I see myself invisible.
I’m so consumed by these thoughts, it’s inexplicable.
I’d give anything to fill this void in my heart,
but something keeps missing and something keeps falling apart.

No matter what you do or what you say,
there’s nothing that makes this pain go away,
‘cause there’s a constant song that plays in my head
that makes me see myself as one big mistake.
And no matter where I go,
and no matter what I know
my path is never aglow,
although for everyone else the sun always seems to glow.

Please, don’t look me in the eye.
Your pity’s too much of a burden to carry inside.
When you’re standing in front of me I realize
you’re the reason I feel less alive.
I don’t want anyone to notice me when I’m around,
yet I wish I was so special like them and so proud,
but I’m nothing in and out.
At least, that’s how I see myself right now.

What the hell am I doing here
if I don’t belong here?
Written on September 7, 2011
Composition number: 395

I know of
this exact thing I do
pushing people away from me
when I can't hide my insecurity
I say "am I wrong, I'm scared"
just to make them run away from me

I met so many
so careless
I'm sorry
So sorry
I have to be honest

My view is always a blur
constantly making me believe
in wrong ideas
my mind loves to perceive

And seeing how
sometimes they come true
against better judgement
I followed through
It makes me look like a fool
So what is there for me to do
than to think the same of you

"Get over it, we all hurt"
"Try to forget, don't be absurd"
"Maybe stop being so emotional"
"You could be more sociable"
If I could say how desperately I would
if there was a way to show I could
I thought being unapologetic
would be better than feeling pathetic
But it seems like either way
I'm the one that drifts away
Into this ocean of sickness
making me feel worthless

Though these thoughts
I hate the most
I fight feeling useless
I want to know my worth

Oh how I struggle to make them see
I'm not the words that come out of me
I don't want to feel anxious
I don't like to be sad
And I feel so pretentious
it might drive me mad

And how this thought
of losing my mind
sometimes seems
way too kind
Like such a relief
of a brain always screaming
almost a sort of dignity I could retrieve
thinking madness could be redeeming
Calming but terrifying all the same
For the bliss
would I really not care
to forget my own name?
James Sep 9
I was told (once) that if I could only make up a perfect story, that, that woman, who stole almost everything from men, would fall for me; would, maybe destroy me and leave me for dead. Would, maybe, ship me off without my pen and belt, and force me to paint her with no training. She’d want something that resembles something by Claude Monet; Do you know how difficult that is? That’s the fun though; she’d cut me off so many times; she’d remind me how many others could paint better; she’d explain, in beautiful detail, just how useless my hands were. Well, I hope she’s satisfied with my work; I’m sorry I finished early; I’m really no man; Goodnight, goodnight, I hope you’re sleeping; so I can finally leave.

And there’s the funny part. Away from the orange tinted, whore infested, misogynistic air, I could finally feel the common sense of numbness slip away; my diet of self doubt seemed to leave me starving. But that’s the ship wreck; Do you know what happens to people who get ship wrecked? They find themselves having to find a place to eat, shit, pull themselves off. It all becomes a sort of home; with a sort of relaxation; it’s like what happens to in those prisons I romantically think about. I would never leave; It’s a relaxation; you’re used to violence and you’ll find it everywhere;

Orphans with nothing but oranges and rearrangement; as to make up for their lack of oranges and arrangement. Homing their organising skills, giving them guns. Feeding them peanuts, teaching them to salute.

“You know they can’t kill you, not here”
- “Then why did we give them guns?”
“We didn’t really, we only gave them permission to hurt us”
- “You want them to hurt us?”
“It’s what God wanted”

Crimes against God; which one? They say it could be the Bible; the manual on dealing with defeat. Composed on top of Calvary, where they often let me sleep. But they fucked me and kicked me out, at around book thirteen;
- “You’ll never understand, until you’ve fought in World War Three”
My heart is no good, and my hands are tired from fighting; I tricked myself into thinking I was worth something.
- “Creation is the catastrophe; and you are the cause”
Love
Sex
Nothing
Boats
Love Again
Nothing Again
Worthless empty hands
God
who am i?
what am i?
Do I really exist?
What form of life Do I have here?
Is my identity really determined by my actions?
If so, that makes me someone who'd rather write than live.
But is that all i am?

I am creative and self-destructive
naturally skilled and unproductive.
I am fragile yet tough as a man,
struggle thru life with no real plan.

As each day passes I can feel it,
I'm slowly losing a part of my identity.

My friends are all screaming;
"who are you!?!"
"is your mask anything like you!?!"

My head is hurting,
I don’t know how it’s still on.
I'm still aching,
After all the breaking that has been done.
Loco Cocoa Sep 5
Ev’ry body should
Feel a little bit worthless
Perhaps failure would
Then hurt just a little less
anna Sep 3
i have let those i loved
convince me i am nothing.
instead of giving up love
i continue to do so wholeheartedly,
as long as i never forget
to love myself
a.m.
Mae Hoek Sep 2
It's funny how a single sentence
can make me feel worthless.
It's funny how a critique
can make me feel talentless.

Maybe I should quit altogether,
or maybe just run away,
but the one thing it doesn't make me feel
is a sense of worth and love.
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