Why am I not better than every one else?
Why am I so average?
I am no prettier,
No stronger,
No smarter,
No anything more than my comrades.
I am mediocre...I want to be special!
I am unknown...I want to be renowned!
I want to be known for something,
Have something better than others.
And then the mirror makes me feel ugly,
And sports make me feel weak,
And teachers make me feel stupid,
And church makes me feel sinful.
My friends say I am fine:
They do not mean it.
The fools; they think I am fishing for compliments!
I am speaking what is on my mind;
They will not let me.
They immediately refute everything I say,
Make it less,
And then they go off saying the same.
They think they are making me feel better.
Perhaps they are.
I do not know.
In the heat of the evening,
when my pulse is high
It comes the worst
The demon holds me in its grasp
I have done too many things already done
Thought too many things already thought
Dreamed too many things already dreamed
Felt too many things already felt
My life is like a dream
A strange one
There is no reality
Everything is wrapped in the swirly mist of habit.
I lose myself in the fictional realm
That seems as real as life
And fiction can be cheering
When I have nothing to do
When I have nothing to think
When I have nothing to dream
When I have nothing to feel
I turn to imagination
It buoys me
When disillusioned.
When flashes of reality pelt through
To my mind,
I revel in them
Keep them as long as I can
But ‘reality’ calls soon,
I must return to that dream called reality
And true reality must be left alone.
I have things inside me
That no one could guess
Even my best friend would start in horror
Could she see the monstrosities in me.
My imagination is too vivid
I must turn to it
It is what makes me
But then comes guilt and shame
I should have a better comfort;
A better help.
That help, I am told,
Is nearby
But sometimes he seems silent
Sometimes I don’t want to listen
Sometimes imaginations
Or even ‘reality’ seem to me
Better and more pleasant.
I try, I listen, I talk,
But sometimes he seems as much a dream as any ‘reality.’
I hurt, but no one knows.
I dream, and no one sees.
In my mind, a compilation of thoughts
That never seem to straighten themselves out.
Is anything sure?
Can I know anything?
What is objectiveness?
What is neutrality?
No one is objective, no one is neutral,
But every one is so crazily mixed up
That any view at all seems to make no sense.
So many questions I can’t ask
So many thoughts I can’t voice
How do you combine logic and heart?
How do you combine God and ‘reality’?
How do you combine free will and destiny?
How do you keep your balance
On the edge of this perilous pit that engulfs all?
What view am I supposed to take?
My father says one thing, my friends another,
My mother tells me it is so,
My teacher says it is not so.
The pastor will say something,
And another pastor will say another.
I hate to disappoint,
But I know God and every one will be so,
Disappointed if I don’t do everything,
Think everything,
Dream everything,
Feel everything
Just right.
They will not condemn me,
They won’t be angry,
But they will be disappointed.
As I write this, I wonder if I should.
Can you question God?
You can, but what if
I should die before I am done?
If the end of the world should come, where would I be?
I don’t understand.
I want to believe, but belief require so much.
They say it will come naturally,
But it doesn’t.
They say God will allow mistakes,
But it makes him disappointed.
I want to go some where,
He seems to say no.
And I know if I don’t,
I will miss it,
And if I do, something will happen,
And I will be forced to say,
“You were right, God.
I never should have gone.”
And how stupid of me,
I will think, to go when God said not to!
God doesn’t know.
You don’t know.
He, she, they don’t know.
I don’t know.
I want to be free from restrictions.
I feel liked I am caged.
But to break the bars would be to disobey,
Disobedience is sin.
Sin is punishable by death.
I do not want to die.
I hate this!
I hate God!
I hate reality!
I hate it!
Now be shocked if you dare.
Be shocked, best friend,
Because your faith is so strong,
You never feel these doubts.
Be shocked, Mother and Father,
Because you don’t understand.
All this is pent up inside me,
I feel like a prison.
A prison in prisoner.
I have never let it out,
Because I feared the shock.
I write this here, not brave enough to voice it,
And hope that my friends will see it.
But now reality calls.
I must go to where reality and knowledge are the foundation.
I will do well; I am good at the theory
Though I myself have no such experience.
I return now to the dismal, misty world called ‘reality,’
Things that can be understood
And things that I understand
In not understanding.
