Torn Inside

It’s funny how often I’m reminded how lucky I am –

How lucky to have what I have

And how lucky to live the way I live –

But end up passing it as a second thought.

It’s funny how the more luck I have,

The more I find myself resenting it.

It’s funny how many friends I claim to know,

When in reality I hardly know one at all.

It’s funny how I create this image of myself,

But let the fakeness get to me.

It’s funny how I know the problem,

But don’t reach out for the answer.

It’s funny how I think it’s funny,

When it can only be described as sad.

It’s not funny how I break down inside from this overbearing loneliness,

How I contemplate reaching out to someone but never have the will to,

How sometimes insomnia tears my heart apart in those long, cold nights,

How I distract myself with virtual reality and an audience that doesn’t exist,

How I know all this about myself and don’t do anything to make it better.

Sometimes I think I can’t do anything despite the constant urge.

Sometimes I think I’m okay this way.

But most times, I ignore it all together

Hoping someday it’ll just fade away.

It’s been years

And it grows stronger every day.

All of this I look upon as simple selfishness,

That I’m simply overanalyzing my own situation

And ignoring those of others.

I busy myself trying to be helpful in any possible way

Though it may be myself who needs help the most.

I write these poems not to be heard,

but to wallow in my own regret.

I don’t want pity, sympathy, or some so-called advice,

I don’t want anything.

Sometimes it’s not a matter of what I want,

But of what I need.

Right now, I need to back myself away from the verge of tears

And regain composure.

Things are always different from the inside

And I’m the perfect example of that.


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