Insecure of the non-polished side of myself
Him who is not so smooth
A bit rigid in motion
Having to take things slowly to avoid knocking over anything
Imbalanced in breathing and action
Mind is adding and the body does subtraction
Chaotic is a fitting word
Embossed across the fabric of his being
His fibers quiver and shake
Sipping on silence for protection
So the world doesn’t judge him for the crime of being slow
For not getting it right away
For being confused
Crucifying him, and crossing intelligence off his noggin
Burying him in a coffin of shame & guilt
He watches beyond oblivion
Unsure of how long he’s been like this
Grateful for the ones who accept him as is
Tears drop for the old versions of himself who didn’t know
Tears drop for the times he felt below standard
Tears drop for the times he felt undeserving of love
Tears drop for the times he was told he needed help and no one did
Tears drop for him having to figure out by himself
As well as tear drops for those who accepted him as he was
A pool of joy & suffering
Learning to paddle through his nature
Understanding the depth and buoyancy
Almost drowning a couple times
Yet he still floats.
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