Sun, 04/14/2013 - 15:40 -- athgia1

Pressure, pressure, the need to be the best
Is sucking me, pulling me, and making me a mess
Every paper, every grade, every solemn word I speak
Has been thought up, reviewed, and perfected till made bleak
It’s this demon, this voice, this little breath inside
Pushing me further even when I thought I’ve tried
When I look at others all that I can see
Are the talents I wish I had inside of me
Every where I turn, every page, in every book is a new fact or question
And my brains telling me to look
So I sit there and obey, search for what I lack
And then turn too others in hopes of a reassuring fact
But all I get turned back to me is not what I have hoped
They’re telling me I have it all and that I’ve never had to work
At that I don’t question I just turn around and say
I need to keep on striving, need to turn my doubts away
And even when I’m snapping and just about to break
I pull it all together throw on a smile and start to fake.
So that no one ever sees that this little demon inside
Has taken over my body and made me want to run and hide


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