I don't feel like I do anything well,
and I don't like the feeling,
I'm crippled by the horrors of my true self,
the things that I do are easy,
no challenges, no obstacles, no threats;
regrets, guilt, and frustration for all my inactivity,
no difference in the world,
no commitment to any convinctions,
what I call 'ideas' because I don't want to keep beliefs
Yes, frustration and self loathing,
resentment for myself,
pain and anguish for my qualities,
or should i say, pain and anguish for a lack there of.
Motherless child of the postmodern era,
empty discussion,
no thoughts of my own,
the world created for me,
yes, little to no worth like the new world created with no purpose,
except perhaps self destruction.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
FACE UP! and FEEL THE RAIN... Do this in your GREATEST PAIN... You can read my poem DESTINY.