Indecisive

I started out dying but living it through,
I’ve been slogging right on every day.
But something is missing and I even know why.
The self-help sections teach me what to do,
I try this, that, and every which way
But I can’t get me right. I just want to cry.

I show myself to a select few.
I can’t get rejected that way.
Others seem to think on myself I am high.
I’m always prepared for a harsh review.
I fear for the judgments of the Great They.
Or worse, I fear that they’ll pass me by.
So I keep to myself and pretend not to feel.

I believe some day, that I’ll make a debut,
And the world will see that I’m really okay.
For now I’ll keep reading. I just have to try,
To mold myself well and no more be askew
And then to the world I can loud and proud say,
“Look, look! Now I’m like you—does this new me fly?”

But another part of me can’t make it true.
I want to be accepted as myself every day.
Yet I can’t fix and accept when both I decry.
So I’ll keep being me, while I avoid you.
It doesn’t work, but it’s my life cliché.
There’s comfort in being my own fall guy.
I regret this poem: it’s too open, too raw, and too real.


Rhyme scheme: abcabc abcabcd abcabc abcabcd