I Can’t

If I can’t write you something deep and show you what is right,

How am I to be there when you fall?

If I can’t speak a work, and keep you up at night,

Should I be writing you at all?

 

I want to blow your mind.

Or somehow slow down time.

Point a pen in your direction and make you think your brain is mine.

 

 But I can’t.

 

 I’m missing that spark, that pop star flare.

That light in the dark to make you stare.

I’m just me.

 

I’ll never have the look, that award show given face.

Like a plot hole in a book I’m out of place.

I’m just me.

 

And I can’t.

 

I want to write a page of history,

Be a chapter all alone.

Your favorite part of this story,

Bring in ratings on my own.

 

But I won’t.

Because you don’t know who I am.

 

I’m just me.

 

And I can’t.

General Conversation

I smile.

But can you read it in my body language, the overflowing pressure gauge,

Like something’s about to blow?

My anxiety, triggered silently, when you speak; I fall below. 

It’s not you. Trust me. It’s not you.

Honestly true, just me, nothing new.

But can you feel it?

Can you see it in my eyes? Maybe hear it in my voice?

Maybe see it in my hands as they sweat by no choice.. of my own..

… alone … 

You’re here; talking. I hear mocking. 

Not in your words, or even your tone; 

But in the voice in my head, which I’m prone to condone..

… alone …

“Stop blowing holes in my ship!”

I yell at my crew, as they unload a clip.

A round of bullets, shot straight through;

The mutiny aboard my mind.

This panic anew. The heart skip, tongue slip, I’m drowning. 

My boat quickly sinks, in the ink on the page,

As my skull deeply thinks, in the loll of it’s cage :

Your misinterpretation of my total misconception

Of the total imperfection of my ‘horrible impression’

A confession of depression from my no doubt flawed perception

of you.

Teach myself a lesson.

Help.

General conversation shouldn’t strike an ill sensation.

Depression takes it’s tole

Compression of my soul.

Help.

…Don’t stop talking. This is good for me, right?

These words keep stalking my conscience at night.

I scream.

You can’t hear me, it echoes within.

You’ve done nothing wrong, but patience is thin. 

I do not like to feel this way.

If normal was an option, I’d be it today.

So please keep talking, I’ll learn to survive.

My eyes just blocking, the demons inside; alive. 

But to whatever you’ll say..

I smile.