I know I should not worry,

I know I should not care,

About every little thing,

That gets caught in life's snare.

But I just can't help it,

Being worried about all those things,

It's just in my nature,

Like with angels and their wings.     I keep emotions inside, Pent up, yeah they are, Just waiting to explode, But sharing feels so bizarre. I just can't help it, That is my ongoing excuse, It doesn't hurt anyone though, Except me, although it is MY issue.     Another flaw of mine, If I may go on, Is that change is a dilemma, It's so hard to survive just one. Lack a sleep and sweet dreams, Do not help the situation at all, Add migraines to the mix, My brain just wishes to bawl.     So these are the reasons why I write, My beloved poetry, To get past worries, change, pain, lack of sleep, It's like writing my internal history. My thoughts are not racing, When everything is out like this. They are calm, sorted, and straightforward, For now, nothing will go amiss.