leningrad

My poem was making me nervous. So I made a new entry to cover it up.

Why is it that the things we want the most are the hardest to obtain and that true happiness often seems like an illusion meant for those who exist only in stories? Why do we struggle so hard for something that seems so likely to slip through our fingers if don't exert ourselves in holding on? Why do we back down from the things that we should look square in the eye and be honest with? Why do our emotions betray us? Why are we complicated and so full of pain and frustration? Are we responsible for the happiness of the people around us? Whose job is it to care for those too weak of spirit to care for themselves? Why do I ache so much to be noticed but shy away from attention? What is it that makes me hate myself so much sometimes? Why can't I just stand up to my own self-loathing? What makes me think that it'll be easier just to be passive? Why am I more afraid of the fallout of my emotions than the damage they'll cause if I don't just say how I feel?

What is it that makes me this way?