Neurosis (this is not a poem)
I lie to myself.
I believe the lies.
And the lies become reified.
Personal accountability is denied.
Externalities define my realities. The blame is reassigned.
The eitiology of my current lack of self-discipline is a exaggerated excuse.
But a really, really, damn good excuse.
The kind of excuse that professors can't argue.
The kind of excuse that causes my eyes to water, my voice to tremble, my body to shake with sobs.
The kind of excuse that is uttered as if some holy secret hesitantly divulged to even the dearest of friends.
The kind of excuse that illicits pity, love, touching, holding, crying from mere acquaintances.
My heart believes the reasons, believes the web of lies and manipulation of bureaucratic and interactional protocol I'm using as a parachute to slow my freefall through the demands of the University of California life I've shuffled into.
But my mind is keenly aware that I'm just being pathetic.
And my soul is going to hell for scapegoating others' realities.
I believe the lies.
And the lies become reified.
Personal accountability is denied.
Externalities define my realities. The blame is reassigned.
The eitiology of my current lack of self-discipline is a exaggerated excuse.
But a really, really, damn good excuse.
The kind of excuse that professors can't argue.
The kind of excuse that causes my eyes to water, my voice to tremble, my body to shake with sobs.
The kind of excuse that is uttered as if some holy secret hesitantly divulged to even the dearest of friends.
The kind of excuse that illicits pity, love, touching, holding, crying from mere acquaintances.
My heart believes the reasons, believes the web of lies and manipulation of bureaucratic and interactional protocol I'm using as a parachute to slow my freefall through the demands of the University of California life I've shuffled into.
But my mind is keenly aware that I'm just being pathetic.
And my soul is going to hell for scapegoating others' realities.