I try.
At least i think i do.
But my definition is skewed and misshapen  
And i don't really know if i am.
I can.
Blessed in my able body,
Guilty with the monologue that runs in me,
Tired, not sleeping,
Then sleeping too much  
And then guilty again in a cycle that doesn't seem like it'll end.
I know that i am young, but i feel so old inside.
Not in that way of wise shoulders,
Just incredibly brittle and tired.
But i smile.  
I smile to my kids,  
And my mum whose so worried of all of the shit that fills up my head.
Its like she can see all that i dread,
And i do share with her,
But there's only so much when you feel so much shame.  
Poor choices,  
Bad habits,
5 o clock christmas day,
And I know that I am to blame for all of the mistakes that i have made.
There's no comfort though.
I want to be proud of myself yet my inner self screams oh so loud of all of the things I have ever done wrong.  
On repeat.
In a loop.
Deafening, always shouting.
Oh the idea of sleep, i can taste it and yet it refuses to come to me.
Sitting in a class room to be told that i can control whats going on in my head.
That this feeling of dread is something I'm doing,  
That i manifest.
That i am charge of my brain,
Such a mess,  
And can rearrange all of it if i thought best.  
But i don't.  
Unravelling wool in a half finished jumper made with good intentions.  
My reflections not helpful,  
But it's hard when you try
And yet deep down inside
There's no place you can hide,
From the spiralling doubt  
of your half baked, fucked mind,  
And it hurts; its painful nearly all of the time.
Yet i fake.  
I fake now oh so good.
My carefree disposition, a clever facade,
No one laughs more than at me,
Oh so hard,  
I just wish that the joke was funny,
I still laugh,
Take the piss before anyone else can,  
That's the plan,
And then let what was said consume me  
And roll it over and over and over and over again.
Flippant comment between friends that won't shut the fuck up in the early hours of the morning.
In my head.  
When everyone else is fast asleep in bed.
But its fine.  
No its not, as i consume myself in wine,
I do try.  
At least i think i do.
Am I repeating myself? Not sure if i have.
Imagining grand scenarios where I'm not who i am
Waking to the fact it was just a dream.  
Did i sleep?
I thought i couldn't dream, yet the cold light of day, so stark,
Fuck its morning.
Let's repeat.  
And get up, where's your smile, carry on.  
Drink a coffee and reiterate whatever i was saying the night before.  
My poor soul.  
Good intentions but misdirection that never form to a goal; but its fine. I'll suck it up and then try and do as i did before.
Written by Oohloulala (Loulou)
Author's Note
I find it so much easier to right about how I feel and it sound poetic. But it's hard that they are always so sad sounding.
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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