2017.

I guess sometimes it’s just easier to sit in isolation and keep yourself lonely
Than to try and be happy
I guess I get my pessimism from my Dad
Who taught me to never expect the best because it’s not likely to happen
Maybe that’s why I’ve always idolised the tragically sad artists that hide behind
Their narcissism
Because underneath all of mine I can’t feel as good as them
Maybe my self esteem took a hit and my ego killed himself

I spent this year drinking rum on Tuesdays and repeating my mistakes on Fridays
I keep feeling like everything should be coming together
But my chest keeps breaking when it hits the concrete
The foundations aren’t strong enough
And I don’t think I am
Or ever will be at this point

Sometimes I think this is all I am and all I’ll ever be
The same child that couldn’t colour within the lines
But other times my mum’s smile breaks through
I just wish maybe I’d call her or tell her I love her

I’ll swim towards the puffy eyed mermaid I left on the island
I’m still learning that maybe I’m not as dark as I think I am
And that my lack of self-esteem is real
And this ego I’ve created isn’t
If Nadeen could slit Deen’s throat then he would
But they need each other to survive
I guess the artist needs his vice or maybe he needs his art more
But like I said earlier, I was never able to colour in-between the lines

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