When everything turns to shit,
I find myself typing up on these blank pages again.
I'm pretty contained at this point.
It's not like these are even poems anymore.
But they have meaning nonetheless and I hope you don't mind.
I can't really get this out anywhere and it seems like this is always the best place.
You can't talk at school because all the sudden everyone knows what your saying,
My friends are sick of hearing about it,
And my grandparents don't understand.
It's not like I'm asking for advice,
Just a place to feel free,
To not have chains holding me down and keeping everything locked up.
I've had a lot happen in my life,
I've done a lot of shitty things to cope with it,
I've had my karma,
And I'm still waiting on others to have it from me to.
In reality,
Nothing about life is fair,
I'm not perfect and I make more mistakes than I can count,
Even though my anxiety does a pretty damn good job of it.
I'm constantly tugging on the end of a stick,
And it feels like I'm the only person on that side,
While the rest of the world tugs against me,
And I'm not complaining,
Or trying to be a petty, self absorbed person.
I'm just describing the honest truth about how I feel.
Everything written in this book has been so cryptic,
But yet so straight forward.
This time, it's not.
This is just a blunt page.
This is just a page that related probably only to me, and if you can relate I guess I'm sorry.
It sucks.
Sometimes I can't decide if I would rather be a realist,
And face my problems head on and just accept that at some point,
Things are going to fuck me over,
Or
If I should be a spiritualist,
And focus on optimism,
And start praying,
Try to fix my karma.
I constantly question
What to do to make my life better.
To make everything feel right,
And balanced.
Because now that I think about it,
It never has been.
It's always been a little off,
And I've been depressed,
Before I even knew what it was.
And that's just being real.
But it doesn't mean I haven't been happy.
I've had my share of good times,
I think about them a lot honestly.
It almost makes me wanna cry,
Because I long to have them back again.
Of course,
A lot of the people in these good times,
Aren't apart of my life anymore,
And that hurts to think about sometimes.
If I could fix all this I would,
If I could do something better,
I would.
But i guess it doesn't matter anyways.
I just keep digging myself into holes,
And the more I try to dig myself out,
The deeper I get buried.
