Sense of self

There has always been something that didn't make sense.

There will always be something that doesn't make sense.

In a sea of mangled thoughts we cover it up with clear visions.

We convince ourselves that everything is just that.

We never admit defeat for that is seen to be as weak.

But... why must we rush past the uncertainty?

Not everything has to make sense.

You don't have to make sense.

One night you'll wake up at 4am and think to yourself "oh my god what have I done."

And the next day you'll wake up and make the same mistakes again until you hands start to bleed and your heart makes your chest feel a little too heavy.

Nothing makes sense about you.

Nothing makes sense about me.

But I guess that's okay.

Things don't have to make sense and I'm trying to be alright with that.

Somethings don't ever seem right, my god, I think I need things to make sense so that I can breathe between these seams of the layers of regret I wrapped myself so tight in.

"Things don't need to make sense," I'll scream at myself at the middle of night for the hundredth time.

I'm stuck here between my actions and my thoughts and I can't seem to figure out the difference between the two.

You see I know I wanted to walk back but I swear to god I did a thousand times but maybe it was only in my dreams , for every time I got close I was pushed back into reality.

Was it me or was it in my mind ?

I can't seem to tell the difference between reality and nightmares anymore.

I would call them dreams but they never turn out alright. They turn out with me tied down by the stitches of my sadness on this twin sized mattress.

I don't think I'm making sense right now.

It's okay. 

It's okay to be a mess.

It's okay to have no sense of self.

I am still growing into what I want to be.

This poem is about: 
Me

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