I Am In Constant Disarray Poem by Mark. A Heathcote

I am in constant disarray.
Between what I do and what I say
To be a better version of who I am
It is a circus act at best.
Here I am, a clown dragging my heavy war chest.
Crying like a baby in its pram.

People either tolerate me or loathe me.
People hate me or love me.
I have no control over how they feel.
Some days, I go about life with a fresh summer zeal.
At other times, I'm in a real quandary.
Where's the balance? Where lies my safe zone boundary?

Anxiety strikes, and I go crying like a four-month-old baby.
Disempowered, I am a worthless nobody.
A sham, asking who the hell I am.
Like an animal caught in a mantrap
I want to gnaw off a limb and yap.
Make a sound like a thunderclap.
Or more often, take a forever nap.

I am in constant disarray.
Between what I do and what I say.
I hope I live to relish another day. Increase my knowledge;
Perhaps I don't fall victim to defeat but hold my sway.
As in Gladiator, at the next battle of Carthage,
I hope to rise and not fall flat like another soufflé.
At least, dear God, not today.