Who am I, to think I am unable to succeed, to walk my own path, to lead, to follow? Who am I to say the way I am is the way I am, and not do anything to make the way I am different and special? Who am I to act like I don’t care, to walk with an air of blissful ignorance when really… I hate what I am doing to myself. What is the answer?
What am I doing to change myself, improve myself, so I can succeed, lead follow? “Tomorrow, I’ll be better.” “Tomorrow, I’ll be stronger.” Each day, I focus on tomorrow over today and fail to make my way down a path I know I could stay on… but don’t. What is it that makes me this way, and causes me to say that I am above you, that I think nothing of you, when really what you say affects me in ways that I would pay to experience. When will I change?
When do you know I am trying or just lying to you or to myself? When do you know I am pushing or just wishing I am doing something else, not helping you but myself? When do I know whether I care or just wear a mask of my own dead emotions and make selfish motions to support me and mine over you and lie, using you to help myself? Where am I heading?
Where are the friends I could totally have, but don’t? Where are the things I could totally get, but won’t? I pushed them away, day by day, messing with their heads so I could make bets with myself on who would go first. I gave up opportunities, my own virtuosities, and committed monstrosities to serve the other half of my own personality. Certainly, I am habitually, totally, in fear of myself. Why do I do this?
Why do I only love what I cannot have, and want only things that are lost to me? Why am I so cautious yet audacious, empathetic yet somehow a sadist; A sociopath, yet a romantic. Serious, yet cunningly frantic to juxtapose and expose the other half of me? My empathy shields me from my own emotions, instead allowing me to focus on yours and with a voracious fervour openly shrive on your boring lives to distract myself from the voices in my head and their lies. How will I keep this up?
How am I able to contain myself? The books on the shelf in my mind speak only of pain and retain every memory of my history of monstrosity while perfectly and horrifically torturing my psyche with recollection and vivisection of things I once did and hid to worship the false gods of hate and fear that yet remain inside of me.
And yet… I LIVE , even when I’m not sure there’s anything worth living for.
I LAUGH, even when it’s not that funny
And I LOVE, even if I may not be loved in return.
I live in a world of my own creation with no relation to reality, so I am happy? The other side of me has been trapped under fantasy and dreams of who I could be, but won’t, because I am afraid that alone I will destroy myself trying to turn my life around. My pessimism, so useful when avoiding pain, has left me without any positive idea of myself. Yet my ego, not much use for anything else, still tries to put other people down. Who am I to judge? Half of me wants to apologize, so I will, but half of me does not, so I won’t say it. Half of me cares about my friends, so I treat them well, but the other half slips psychology into my words and actions, trying to separate me from my source of energy so it can take control…
My Rhapsody, solely focused on me, is nearly complete. There is only so much that one can say about someone else, and even less that he can say about himself. And as usual, I have used so many words in lieu of a few. Five Ws and an H; the common interrogatives for clarification, investigation, and divination; All along I’ve been somewhat avoiding the questions. This poem was never for most of you, but for me. 5 Ws and an H to try and help me find myself. 5 Ws and an H for my own closure and consolation, plus a shout out in silence to a special someone. Most of you were just along for the ride, allowing me to try and piece together my mind. Thanks for being so kind. There is no way to capture someone’s soul in a few small words, but my own lack of composure while performing this self-exposure reveals to me that a weight has been lifted. My cryptic wording was no accident, for to me there is almost nothing more satisfying than revealing secrets in a way that leaves you all speechless.