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They Tell Me
They tell me I'm weak
That I'm doing it wrong
That my reality does not fit the expectation
Why do I listen to them?
Is it really them?
Or is the dripping paintbrush spilling unwanted blood onto my mind from your artistic hand?
Is my perception of the pronoun 'you' defined in the unheard part of my mind as a silent cry for help
Directed at me?
Could these protests really be from a more familiar source?
Whenever I confront them,
I already know these things,
Like a long-lost church-goer,
Giving Sunday mornings a second chance
And remembers why he gave up.
I go from happy to jealous in negative two thoughts
Meaning I think of others before myself
In the most selfish way.
What the real voices are saying is
Be you.
You shouldn't care what other people think.
Be proud of who you are.
Yeah, well what if I can't?
What if I don't want to...
They tell me, 'don't change for anyone'
But what if I want to change for me?
Is that another addition to the onslaught of voices saying I'm no one?
Nobody's perfect
But it's that strive for perfection that keeps us alive and changes us for the better.
So don't expect me to give up.
This isn't natural to question your own purpose
And to be lost.
Don't you dare tell me everybody goes through it and
It's just a phase.
If that's the case
Get out from under the over-crushing weight of your ego
And help me through it.
There are better days.
There are worse days.
I've realized that it's ignorant to think
Be Yourself.
I understand that
I need to find the treasure
That is hiding
To spend it.
But,
I need help.
I need someone to be my guide
And I've realized its
Arrogant to believe the rumors
That only the depressed people need
Help.
Tall people can feel short sometimes.
Sweet people can feel sour sometimes.
Happy people can feel sad sometimes.
Proud people can feel like the enter foundation of their life
is being blasted away in an eternal explosion
and everything they stand for and on is
gone.
Well...
Here I am.
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