Ssserenity

I’m Insecure, I  know what for I clench my hands when I walk through the do-o-or I need make-up to cover up Being born this way is not enou-ou-ough No one else in the world can see it No one  else, but me, ee Baby, I hide in the dark from everybody else The way my face looks gets me overwhelmed But when I fake a smile in front of me, it is hard to tell They  don’t know oh-oh They don’t know I’m insecure If only they saw what I hide from me They’d understand why I hate my physique completely Right now I stare at myself, and I understand They don’t know, oh-oh They don’t know I’m in

What is it like To forget something important? You cannot remember that time When you had so much fun. If only I had the hindsight To react properly. Then I would never forget To attain clear sight. The itch I cannot scratch Will always remind me That which I can never see.

What do you do, When you get burnt out, When life feels unfun? Sometimes it’s that last boss. Sometimes it’s a pointless grind. Sometimes you have no one to play with. Regardless, each attempt gnaws at your very soul. That boss you can’t beat, Took out every last drop of energy, Leaving nothing but an empty husk behind. What’s the point of continuing tomorrow, When you can’t appreciate today?

What's it like to be germophobic, When everything you touch, Came from a landfill? I can't stop washing my hands, Out of paranoia, They'll never be clean. My anxiety accelerates, Day by day, I can't ignore it. I've rewashed entire batches of dishes, Out of fear, They'll always be dirty. I am now at the point, Where I don't know what to do. I need help now!

What does it mean when something grosses you out? When you can never stop thinking about something that's perverse to you? I am constantly reminded, I can't handle this, I can't tolerate this! What do I do, When that which grosses me out, Exists everywhere? It comes in many shapes and sizes, From being obvious yet subtle, To being kept hidden away from the public eye. No matter what happens, That which grosses me out, Persists as long as I live.

What does it mean, To have something, Almost constantly stolen? When every person you meet, Is a potential thief? All I feel, Is fear and paranoia. Every measure I take, To safeguard my possessions, Feels never enough. I write this poem, As I worry, Someone will steal from me today.

What does a birthday mean, To oneself and others? Is it a celebration, Of their body, Of their mind, Or of their soul? Is a birthday a reminder, Of how long a person has been in this world? Or is it a reminder of being trapped in one's body? Today I celebrate, How much I have progressed, Yet I am still reminded, How much more I need, To be myself. Happy Birthday me!

Why is what I feel grey? I am not sure, Is what I feel depression, Or not? Everyday I have difficulty, Finding passion in skills, Being able to pursue interests. Is what I feel Autism, Is it a parasite in my brain, I cannot tell. The greyness in my heart, Befuttles me constantly, Making it hard to discover new interests, Yet I cannot decipher, What I am experiencing.

What does it mean to have a system? A group for minds within your own head? The individual pieces I have, Inequal in length, Feel divided. I have the me who has been in control, Nearly our entire life. Next was the fragment who took front, When I was broken into pieces. The last are grains of sand, Unable to say but a whisper. These unequal fragments, Scattering across our being, Leave me confused. Am I one? Am I many? Am I both? Am I neither? I cannot tell.

What's the cure for being male, For being someone that's not you? Everyday I live in a body, Alien to my identity. I am constantly reminded, This is not me, This is not me. I am locked in a body, I yearn to escape from. What's the cure for being male, So I can become who I am meant to be?