People always hate me once they know me,
And so, I hide behind this pseudonym —
I’m only worth what I can give to others:
In dollars, or, perhaps, in apothegm
I sit here, mangled, ineffective, mordant;
I spray these useless songs into the air —
I long for harmony, but am discordant;
I wish that you were here, or I was there
I’d sacrifice myself if it would save you;
To know with fond recall I would be held —
At least remembered for the things I gave you,
And not for times I fretted, moped,
Or yelled
Why do you ask people hate you?
say*
I didn’t say these were “rational” thoughts, just the kind I have when I’m depressed.
I understand, but I’m just wondering why you would say such a thing under the condition.
I don’t know why I feel that way.
Have you ever thought about it?
Yes, but I am not certain in any conclusions.
I don’t think we ever are “certain.” I find our views change as we evolve.
Reblogged this on perfectlyfadeddelusions.