Self

Some mornings it hits
All these thoughts I'll neglect
Like finding a balance
Between my own Self-Respect
And reaching the standards
The world seems to expect
Some mornings its hard to not sit and reflect


And although I'm not twelve anymore
I'll still question
Why everything tends to 
Boil down to possession - 
Possession. Of people,
Of facts, self expression
And if your hands are empty
You turn to aggression


And you'll wonder how
Somehow you feel so oppressed
By your own life and choices
You'd always just guessed.
Then, questions get harder
And you're a little obsessed 
With mistakes and the fuck ups
And you leave out the rest


And there's always the chance
That you're just Self Consumed
Thats why you'll rethink
Who you are in dark rooms,
And things that mother,
Friends - mostly you
Had assumed
Are just bullshit dreams
They won't write on your tomb


And its hard to describe
But I guess it feels hollow,
When you run out of faith in Yourself
To still follow,
And each day gets harder to 
Breathe deep and swallow
Your ten hundred questions
To Phoebus Appollo


Like since when is just Being
Not quite enough
To make some small difference,
And why do we act tough
When everyone's blind to where
Their life is going - 
But doesn't mind waiting around and
Not knowing?


And I find I'm embarrassed
To my Eight Year Old Self
When I made countless pledges
And threw them on shelves
That I never could reach,
A mistake in itself.
Hair colour, tattoos and opinions
Meaning nothing
If the rest of the world
Is far too busy stuffing 
Themselves full of
Drive and Success
Before cuffing


Outsiders
Not wanting it,
Or working as hard
And I wonder if this is my choice
Or my cards
That we're given
Long before we chose
To keep us all asking
To keep us on our toes


And it hurts that people much younger
Had achieved so much more
While I'm biting my nails
Just outside the door.
Wrote symphonies, novels
Changed methods of thinking -
While I Doubt Myself,
Constantly smoking and drinking


And hundreds find passions
And cultivate talent,
But I'm not all that good
At much that's apparent
Except late nights, Self Loathing
Watching lifetimes go by
With nothing to show
Because I don't really try.