It's 2 in the morning again.

Ever wanted to change,
and then been really really angry
at yourself because you can't change,

and then been really super sad
at that realization,

and then that realization
shows you that if you can't change you,

that must be part of you for some twisted, merciless reason?

I wish I could write a happy poem for any readers.
I do try to find the optimism in the end.

2 AM... again.

I'm sick of myself.

I try to pick on myself,

but then I'm filed as coy.

I can't manage myself.

I try to handle myself,

but then I've misfiled my joy.

I'm hating myself,

and degrading myself.

I can't figure out when I'm right,

and I don't know if I should sleep,
or what secrets to keep.

Or if two is just too late too-night.

Wondering if self-medication exists,

or is it just the easy way out.

Am I weak to need help,

or weak not to seek it,

I can't figure out, what's "alright"?

yet sometimes I like what I see,

I guess I'm afraid to be me,

because I'm afraid of what's in my head,

and much more afraid of what's in everyone else's.