Brittle

Such a brittle pride or self-esteem,
I know not which, that lies inside of me
Cannot even read
              a poem by another
without feeling this self tarnish and adust.
Seeing the greatness in another 
makes here feel so so small and so afraid.
That I will be thrown out for good
But what? Because I am not so good as
those famous famous words?
Who do I think I am. 
But still the feeling is worthlessness, mirthlessness
                Wish it could be enjoyment and thoughtfulness

Which there is 
                there is some of that.

Some of that. 
                     is always mixed with some of this.
Is it ever possible to not compare and feel rejected?
That I could read such things and be inspired and not insipid.
That I could look at the world and be amazed and humbled 
             and not afraid that it all means 
         I am nothing at all. 
Though it is nice to be nothing.
          Nobody expects something from nothing. It is nice there.

I am so 
                 tired of this self being in a state of defence
Tired of taking it all so personally. 
That I am so obsessed with this self that is I.
That I get jealous so easily.
                                Such a bore.
I like think what I do is good and beautiful and interesting
To be laid bare is a fright.

That is it. Of course.

                    This assumption always that 
I need to be amazing. That I need to be successful and performing
and meaningful. 
And I don't have to. It doesn't ahve to be anything for anybody but for me.

I write for me mostly and maybe for you? For my own therapy and enjoyment. 

And others write for different reasons. Different reasons. Different days.

I want to be able to be okay. Okay okay okay. 
                               With exploring all these things. 
Not afraid and alarmed and triggered and adust. 
So don't have to. Don't have to. 
            Don't have to be so amazing.
                         It is okay. It is really okay. 
To be an average. An average. Average looking for around and seeing some things

And thinking some stuff and doing some other things.
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Yes. alkshdlfheaiucwaeiua

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I just want to do my little thing and be okay. Explore around and be alright. 

How do I stop stop stop taking it all so personal personally. 
 
Perhaps, 
         though. 
Is it so surprising?
The obsession of selfin a society obsessed with individuality? It is not surprise
Then that I feel such pressure to expressure myself. To be unique and distinguishfull.
Then I don't feel so bad.
I AM being thrown around by the stories of society. 
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2 thoughts on “Brittle”

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