Who I Am Not

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: August 30, 2018

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Submitted: August 30, 2018

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A therapist once told me that clinical depression is “anger turned inward”.  This poem is an expression of that.

 

Who I Am Not

 

I absolutely hate who I am not,

But for the moment, that’s all I’ve got.

In fact, that’s who I’ve often been

For more years, now, than a solid ten.

I don’t like “sleeping” twelve hours a night,

Only to awake in an exhausted fright.

It irks me to lie fetal in the folds of bed,

Thinking less of alive and more of dead.

Once I toss sweaty covers aside,

I’m so irritated that I just want to hide.

Pissed that I’m already running late,

I guess a hot shower will have to wait.

As I drive, I’m mad that each creative idea

Is crushed by doubting demon diarrhea.

And so, at the shop, it angers me too

When I can’t focus on selling a damn shoe.

As aches start to unfurl inside my mind,

I’m outraged to leave co-workers fast behind.

With eyes drowning in their watery salt,

I wonder if this is my own fucking fault.

Arriving at my therapist’s, I instantly fume

About other things, like my disaster of a room,

And how I may never be ready to date

Because I can’t even keep this life straight.

It’s also bullshit I won’t call my best friends back,

Though I love them more than I can ever try to yak.

Still upset, I head to my parents’ place for dinner,

Feeling them wonder: “what happened to our little ‘winner’?”

With no answer, I eat their homemade food in haste,

While it annoys me that I’ve forgotten how to taste.

At last, I return home even more livid,

Thinking about how sunsets used to be so vivid.

Darkness begins to surround me on all sides,

And I’m ticked off with what that coincides.

With blood boiling, do I dare attempt to doze?

For my body wants that, yet my heart already knows:

That I absolutely hate who I am not,

But for the moment, that’s all I’ve got.


© Copyright 2018 MoonEmber. All rights reserved.

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