It's like I can't handle reality,

Because in reality I'm not good enough for anyone,

I'm not afraid of anything but my own mind.

I try to let it all escape on to paper in my poetry,

But some stays there and just gets bottled up,

And when I release it, it is just aimless rage, which,

Lashes out upon unfairly found victims.

And it is not me, I am usually a laid back calm person.

Scar tissue on my heart builds up inside me.

It is impossible to remove.

I swallow my feelings, never letting them show.

There is a sore from it.

I can feel it gnawing at me.

I don't know why it stays.

Why it won't leave.

Why it won't wipe clean like a whiteboard.

Why they won't leave me alone.

Why I escape into XTC, weed, or drink.

Why I can't handle it.

Why no one understands.

Why no one cares.

Why I care what they think.

Why I care what anyone thinks.

Why they don't care about me.

Why all I ever talk about anymore is me.

Why I am not as smart as I used to be.

Why I feel like I need to impress them,

Or be what they want me to be,

Why I can't be myself.

Why I feel I need to be categorized into them,

Why just when I think I have it all figured out,

I am alerted I am wrong.

I know what this is.

I know what is wrong with me.

My problem is that I cannot find myself.

I don't know who I am.

All I am is an imposter, a fake,

Nothing but a vapor,

I don't exist.