Sometimes I hate myself I wonder if I am like a dusty book on a forgotten shelf That no one cares about That does not even deserve a shout I do things that are wrong I put them in a song But nobody listens They stare into the distance Sometimes I hate myself Because of my big mouth That hurts people Or makes me sound simple I do not like being taken for an idiot And I wish everyone would just forget The times when I proved myself stupid Like when I try to play cupid Who am I to interfere in another’s love When I cannot see in the skys above A sign of a partner for me Someone who will set me free Sometimes I hate myself a lot Sometimes my face gets so hot That I feel like I am in Hell And I am burning in my own loathsome shell My chest becomes so tight So much so I think I might Burst if I cannot say Help me, help me, I’m in pain Sometimes I hate myself for being so meek I can be a coward, and weak People take advantage of my shock I guess I deserved all I got I hate myself for feeling this way I am so overcome with shame At thinking myself worthy of care When I have no painful memories to share My parents love me This is clear for all to see But what they do not view with their eyes Are my heartfelt cries I have beautiful, beautiful friends And think that without their loving hands I would fall so far and deep into an abyss That my calls as I plunged into the dark would be missed The people all around me truly care But all they can do is stare At the ice that forms inside my heart Scarring me, tearing me apart I have no reason to feel as I do Yet I know it is true That things have a purpose These feelings are not mere coincidence I was bullied when I was at school It was because I did not play the fool I wanted to be talented and smart I got A’s and I considered it an art I stopped trying at some point I’m not sure when I let myself disjoint My outer appearance from the inner At life, I am such a newbie, a beginner I try, and try, I really do Yet I cry, and cry, it’s all true I get so lonely And in this state, I am the one and only I know there are others who suffer And I can’t help but put up a buffer Because I do not want my turmoil to show I might be like them, but no one must know Expectations of me exist They are like a cancerous cyst It pushes me upwards, so far into space That I’ve run out of oxygen, and am suffocating in this place I hate myself when I am stressed I am never at my best When assessment of any kind Is weighing on my mind I am lethargic and lazy My vision gets hazy As I lose sight of the finish line And am driven out of my mind The water washes into my lungs And from this throat once sung Kindess, caring, and honest bliss Now only despair, and cruelty taint these lips I am drowning in my own misery I am not at all miserly With my own life And this leads me to strife I kick and fight I punch and bite The hand that reaches out Because I am without Myself is who I hate because I am always late To recognize my own mistakes And when I do it is too late I have already drastically changed my fate I hears the snickers echoing Off the walls of this cave the names are bouncing They strike me in the face and in the guts I do try to defend myself, I know I must Yet the tear drops turn into a river As I am the receiver, rarely the giver Of the scorn of society I do not know what I did to deserve such impropriety It is all no use, however It does not matter if I am clever If I lack the spine for a sharp retort Or a courageous friend to give much needed support I hate myself sometimes, for being who I am I am soft and juicy on the inside like a clam Yet on the outside I am hard and rough I angrily, religiously, pretend that I am tough I place the funeral mask upon my long nose Who I am, this disguise does not show My shoes are elegant, the rustling of my gown can be heard As I prepare for war, dancing to the song of the liar bird The fires rear up to consume As I am faced with the doom Brought about by these hands I am stolen by the desert sands I am being buried alive My hands claw at the dirt as I strive To keep myself from sinking As I am thinking “Am I really going to die?” I stare into the mirror, gazing at my reflection For myself, I must admit, I have little affection Nor do others care for this old, decrepit book on that high shelf It is because of all these things, I think, that I sometimes hate myself ....
Posted on: Mon, 10 Mar 2014 07:50:04 +0000
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