This isn't really a poem, for starters-
more of a cleaner version of one of my journal entries.
I've felt these things practically all of my mindfully-aware life,
and others have developed pretty recently.
For starters, I feel as though I'm a burden for my closet friends,
a chore to text, call, or ask to hang out.
They probably don't even really like me,
it's just the comfortableness of time and habit that makes it easier.
Obviously, I overthink way too much.
My own mind has always been my worst critic;
never a person, never a certain place.
Just my brain and the body that possesses it.
I can also be my most dramatic self off-stage,
which probably isn't the best.
Sometimes, one minor inconvenience sets off a whole wave of uncomfortableness,
that even a stubbed toe could send me crying at the drop of a hat.
I could hate my body sometimes, the way it can't fit into a size with a single digit,
because society has taught me from a young age that that is not normal.
And the worst part is that I know this is wrong for the right reasons,
but my stupid brain isn't capable of processing that now.
I worry too much about the future:
whether I'll actually make my dreams happen,
whether I'll get married and have kids by my mid-thirties,
whether I'll find true love at all, because at this rate who even knows.
Everyone goes through the same mental struggles I do,
some so much worse than mine.
That first part eases my worries a little, I guess,
but the second just makes me feel even worse about my weaknesses.
I'm going to have my fair share of good and bad days,
that's a fact I'm going to have to deal with at my kind-of young age.
I also say the word "I" too much, I just realized.
I guess you can see what I mean with all of this by now.
In the end I know the bad thoughts will outweigh the good ones and vice versa,
and I know balance is needed to have a wholesome life.
I just have to stick out the bad times with the hope I always seek to have,
even if that means keeping whatever is inside locked there most of the time.