This is not a poem
It never occured to me that I could simultaneously want to be invisible and famous.
But that's where I am right now.
stuck on some weird branch of limbo in a forest of solitude
just trying to keep my balance
Sometimes when I don't know what word comes next
I stare at the letters on my keyboard and hope they'll speak to me.
Sometimes I am convinced that I know the stranger scooping my ice cream from somewhere.
Once I called him Kevin because that's what I thought his name must be
I think I'm a little bit crazy
and I know I'm pretty sad
But I'm not sure where the two start to overlap
The things I say are statements I rarely ever believe
and I often feel guilty for speaking
because I don't think I know how to do anything but lie
Even that seems suspect
I know my grandma will worry when she reads this
But I don't know how to reconcile the person I seem to be with the person I think I know I am
I don't like the direction this is taking.
And I've deleted the past five lines I wrote
I keep editing this shit for cognitive distortions
so that it can't be whittled down to some kind of faulty thinking
as if some CBT will do the trick
let's start this again.