Self-doubt and Anxiety


When I express self-doubt and anxiety
perhaps you think I'm being coy
that I do it for sympathy
or it's the attention I enjoy
but if you only knew the thoughts
that race inside my head
you'd be gobsmacked in wonderment
of how the Christ that I'm not dead
I feel caught and confined,
a captive, in convention's cage
Bottling up my passions
and building up my rage
a masochist, an idealist
a defeatist dreamer as well
whose witnessed the moment's majesty
that traps me tumultuously in this hell
I know that I think too much,
analyse my state of being,
feeling that there's always something else
that we should all be seeing
this introspection's caused infection
withering any healthy, contented hope
pushed me to the brink before,
but I stepped back from the rope
though defeatist, I still dream
and want to see the day
when the world seems to make sense
and I'm not left to feel this way
but I'd rather feel this pain and go insane
from clinging to the belief
that the chance might still exist
to give me some relief
I wish your words would change me
or that the books that I've explored
whose seeds have well been planted
but can't surface through the manure,
would bloom through the gloom that I've assumed,
that battles my optimism down
that I would see my self as more
then being just another bloody clown
I know I've seen the beauty
in all life's sincerity
but little can we taste it
for social intangibilities
so when I express self-doubt and anxiety
I'm not trying to be coy
I'm not seeking your sympathy
for none of this I do enjoy
for now you know the torturing thoughts
that race inside my head
I'm gobsmacked in total wonderment
of how the fuck that I'm not dead.