I dedicated my life to something very very stupid and it didn’t pan out.

I quit, because it was dumb. So now…

I’m having a crisis about it instead.

It’s a full-time job now.

Wanna hear a poem about it?

 

Crisis

–by Becky WTGH

 

What if…

What if I stopped?

What if I started…!

What if I quit?

What if I re-routed?

When do we stop?

Stop what we started

I tried to restart it

but I couldn’t resist.

I gave all I had

to this madness I started.

A madness that lasted

for an age, since a birth.

I’ve known who I was since before I knew jesus

and I’ve gotten to know him since–

he sucks. I should’ve been spending my time

getting to know myself.

I spent all this time trying to be something amazing.

Something that others told me I was.

It didn’t pan out, see now

I’m having a crisis.

It’s what the fucking poem is about.

I knew what I was before I turned 14

I had it all decided.

I set out on foot to journey towards this real me

this version I knew I could be.

They all told me I couldn’t

and I kept doing it anyway

I took this as proof that I wasn’t a fool

but the longer I waited and the more I committed

the greater my doubt grew.

I should be ashamed

to have failed so intensely

I’m away, now

lost as sea

lonely, but don’t ask–

it’s permanent.

I fell in love with an idea of myself

that could never be.

She is dead and–now

it’s just me.

I’m having a crisis

how do you call an ambulance

for a dead person sitting inside you.

I can feel her rotting

she died peacefully, unaware

working herself to death

for a dream that she was meant to fail.

I never told her that we failed

when I took the pill and killed her, the part of myself

that knows deep down

we were always quitters.