Don’t Read This.

We do the best we can to know ourselves.
If we can’t accept who we are then what are we?
I will never get acceptance from anyone but me.

Maybe you’re right after all and I just can’t see it!
Maybe I am a magnet refusing to see polarity…
Attracting only the entropic decay of the self.

The real dramatic irony lies in the cosmic joke:
I should really just laugh more, at it all!
I am punished for things I can’t change nor want to.

What is a flaw anyway, who decided this??
Is there someone decreeing what I can and can’t be?
Everyone and no one is handing me script to follow.

What a shame that I should tear theirs up!
What blasphemy that I should grab my own pencil and paper!
A pencil of kindness with an eraser of forgiveness, how dare I.

In little tiny moment canvased with chronic pain,
There is this tiniest product of intention blossoming,
For my inner self grows while the outer world shrinks.