Angst, but not Really.

A poem that's not sure about what it's feeling.

With all of life’s meaning,

I’m stuck in my own confusion.

Between what I feel and what I see;

Between what is right and what I need.

I can’t seem to describe it.

The feeling that can be:

So perplexing,

So unsettling.

I don’t even know what I mean.

I lay awake at night

Trying to define how I feel.

Is it sadness?

Is it displacement?

Have I lost all sight of what’s real?

When you can’t figure out what you’re thinking

Madness starts creeping in.

If I am sad did I even earn the feeling?

There’s nothing wrong, nothing to grieve.

If I am lonely do I deserve to feel that way?

There’s people all around me.

And yet I feel as if there’s no one here.

I’d tell a soul that I’m upset or lost

But I feel as like they would laugh.

What tragedy am I facing?

How dare I say I’m hurting?

Do I even know pain?

So instead of sharing I write this process

Of figuring out my brain.

“How’s that working out for ya deej?”

Thus far I feel the same.