Average

There’s something I want to confess,

Something I need to get off of my chest,

It’s, that all I ever wanted was to feel as good as the rest,

Not to feel greater, or worthier or even the best,

But just to feel on par with them, would make me feel blessed.

And to feel this way seems like it’s become my life’s quest,

To the point that I may well have become obsessed,

In trying to feel like I’m on par with the rest.

This seems to have unwittingly made life a contest,

And since it’s a competition I won’t win, I’ve become depressed,

But I’m bound by the fear of rejection to always invest,

In the pursuit of proving that I’m equal, and not less.

In this regard I’ve sacrificed much, but to no success.

In this pursuit I’ve pushed myself much, but made little progress.

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Unworldly

In the early stages of my Life’s construction,

I would unwittingly press the button,

Of Self-Destruction.

I did this when I could never find,

The Self-Confidence,

To bring me any peace of mind.

Since this confidence remains elusive,

And its lacking still an obstruction,

I can’t but help remain reclusive,

Until I bring about my Life’s reconstruction.

I could never have foretold,

That by merely feeling unworthy,

Such damage would unfold,

Such damage that’s proving- unworldly.

 

Blot

Might she be able to love me,

If I obtain perfection?

For surely I am unworthy,

To even the most lenient of perception.

Why would anyone settle for less?

Why would anyone settle for the mess,

That I am?

Can I ever be admired,

For where I am?

Can I ever be loved,

For what I am?

For even my yearning,

Doesn’t make up,

For what I’m not.

And it cannot replace,

What I haven’t got.

And it doesn’t avail,

The blot – that is me.