If you wanna be a thing you have to suffer something.

I don’t know what to do. 

I mean I like being me but the anxiety of being me 

is torture. I can’t pretend and be something. 

I can’t push a personality that I’m not, 

or push the motions to play the game. 

I don’t think this shit’s a game. To do this in order to get that. 

If you wanna be a thing you have to suffer something. 

Take the steps? What steps? Live in denial of everything 

but my own ambition?  

It terrifies me. I don’t know the rules, or what 

we’re even attempting. I’m petrified— 

I’m watching movement as a rock in current,

pummeled. 

There is no retribution, that’s how I feel—True.