I hate this feeling of being alone
I hate having to listen to my mind drone
On and on, never stops,
This criticizing that drags me back down from the top
I’m chastised by my heart
I don’t have “free will”
Instead, I get by on my hopes
Writing poetry’s how I get my fill
I’d never stop to think
That it’s for me; the audience's clapping
I think beauty in my soul
Is what I’m really lacking
Someone stops me in my tracks
Forces me to look back
As they stand there, laughing; they say
“Maybe because you are so perfect
Is why you’re so unhappy?”
I realize, hey that can’t be true
But then again, I critic everything I do
Until it kills my ambition; suffocates my drive
Yanks my seams until it tears apart my life
I really should stop dwelling on the imperfect
And stop to think, is it really worth it?