upset.

there's just some things that people don't let come into view for all to witness and voice their opinion on. there's some things in our past that we don't care to repeat. there's just some things that are a part of us, that don't go away, that we can't let go of, that we can't let discontinue. you could call it a problem; it would only be a problem if you did it. but since i do it, it's called a part of me. that's what it is. that's what makes me happy. not just happy, but able to function.

i can't function.
i hate this.
and i have to have it back.
there's no excuses for myself.
i have to get it back.

i will be who i must be.
there's nothing that can stop me.
i must be happy.

this hurts.
miserably.

give me life.
i'm exhausted.

- - -

smother those preoccupations
blinding me through each soft curve
every definition
each streamlined ideal bit and piece
breezing by unconsciously.
they tell me things.
cataloged in just two piles
'don't be this' and 'better than',
they say 'work harder, harder!!
you are not there yet!!'
those piles
sit in your head too
i can feel them growing.
they are so heavy.
i'm so heavy.
turn up the heat, and i'll keep running.

.c