I feel a constant pressure; my existence in a vice.
My shoulders burdened by the burgeoning need to matter.
I ache for a distraction to ignore the pain of having no purpose.
Growing weary of the questions;
Why am I trapped here, angry, anxious and hopeless?
Why do I feel this obligation to the world; to myself?
I’m never happy. It’s so hard to say; to realize and admit.
When friends ask how I am, I lie every time; nothing is fine.
Blocked from my happiness, I cannot feel joy; my consciousness is a pit.
I yearn to be at peace;
Free from self-doubt and insecurities; a moment without dread.
To painlessly exist and understand my path.
No time to spend on my desires.
By the time I recover from the misery of my current state of being,
It’s time to resume progressively slipping into a miserable pit of depression.
Each day it becomes harder to get out of bed;
Misery is the thought of existing another day.
No alarm sounds before I sense the pain ahead.
The first thought that passes through my head each day, is regret that I’ve awakened again.
She says to write, that things are looking up, but I don’t have that faith.
Can I handle it when my words collect dust in the bargain bin?
I see her discover her purpose, one I’ve longed decades to find;
Happy and fulfilled, enthusiastic with a zest for life.
I am happy for her, and so proud; Although, I am sure she will leave me behind.
I am broken, incomplete; a part of me is missing.
She found her missing parts in a camera; in her art;
I fear I’ll never find my passion; my thing.
I can’t hold her back now that she’s complete;
An empty shell is what I’ve become; I don’t know how to fake being a real boy anymore.
My world is too heavy for to hold and will leave me miserable and alone.
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