The Ego Poem
Dude,as of late, I have been tormented from my Dad's criticizing me of being "all about me". Ok, so I am "all about me" here. Yet, I am not altogether happy, and I acknowledge that, in front of others, others who, I believe, care. To SweetBlackPaws, to Jason, this is dedicated. Thank you, Great Universe, for loving me through all of my shit.
I have an obsession with myself.
Unhealthy? Sure, but who's counting.
Not me.
What can I put in my body?
Why do I feel people I don't even know are staring at me?
I have an obsession with myself.
I stay in my room, and bed, most of the time.
I am starting to see the feeling of meaninglessness of my job, because nobody is really happy anymore, nobody. Nobody.
Except me.
Ha.
Ha.
I have an obsession with myself.
I like things just so.
If things are not just so, I flip out inside my mind, and then chaos is added on more chaos.
There is something weird, and wrong here.
I have an obsession with myself.
I like drugs, and alcohol.
I do, oh yes, I do.
Four Loko, Coricidin, Robitussin, gobble, gobble, chug, chug, it's all good, yum, yum, I need this, I need this to enhance my life, man.
I've tried to talk baby talk.
I've tried to become more of a "let down my cool" thing, break down my abused emotional wall.
What does it matter? Most of the people I wait on at my store are still numb assholes who desire nothing more than what they want, which is beef, and meat, and dairy. I run, and get it for them, perfect. I, for the most part, do it with a smile, and a "How do you do?" All the while, I am thinking that I would rather be writing, or stripping, or anything, anything fun. Anything not to deal with the nimrods of society.
I want to be Miss Kitty.
Yeah, Great Mouse Detective stripper mouse.
I need to be her, have to be her, have to be saved from my Western Christian background, and Western Christian redemption.
I want to be beautiful. I do not feel I am beautiful.
I have an obsession with myself.
Yes, I do.
I thought a lot of my customers were assholes last night, too.
Yes, I did.
I try to be careful, though, to plan everything out according to what makes sense.
Of course, what makes sense is just what makes sense to me. Or, is it? I don't know anymore. I don't know about a lot of stuff. I can guarantee one thing, that my life is pretty unmanageable. Somehow, through the grace of God, I go on, and that's that.
Life is strange, odd, too. Yes, I am a little drunk right now, but I would not even say drunk, because my ass was drunk last night, and how. Today, I do not think I even have to say it, but I am speaking of the heart, and laying my true, nasty self down, so that others may not repeat the same shit.
I breathe, and I look around my stepfather's office. I wonder if I will remember even posting this fifteen minutes from now. I am just glad that I had the will to write this today, to spill my guts when the demons of mine wanted me to stay silent, and whimper, and die.
I will not die. I may be high as a fucking kite sometime today, but I will not die. No, I will continue to write, because the heart can never be high.
The heart is always high. And although I hate to admit it, there is a God somewhere, or a force that people call God. There is something. I just wish I had been innocent enough to choose God on my team with complete free will.
I have an obsession with myself.
I reach out a paw to you, and you, and you.
Yes, I do, for I try to make myself care,
but I am number one, or at least that is what my "lego my Ego" heart says.
I am number one.
I have an obsession with myself.
I am number one.
I have an obsession with myself.
Are you?
Do you?
Thank you.