I wonder if I’m still enjoying myself.
Or is my dissatisfaction self-inflicted.
I keep saying that I’m immune to repetitious misfits, but finding myself becoming addicted.
I hate arguing.
I hate feeling like I’m impartial.
I hate thinking that everything I do is not good enough, or believing that impressing you is too hard to.
I can’t make you happy,
I’ve been in 3 different relationships within the past 7 years, apparently I fuxked up in each scenario.
I’ve lied, became angry, and denied my feelings, despite being quick to share them though.
Forced to internalize my thoughts because not too many care to know.
As I begin to regress because no one acknowledges my apparent growth.
I’m too emotional. I’ve learned not to express myself in situations that tend to backfire.
At the same time, I’m not the type to stop driving just because I have a flat tire.
Loved one’s tell me to get used to it, and try not to be too impacted by her.
But I refuse to live out the rest of my life being the result of someone else’s satire.
Poetry 