Civil War

It starts with a feeling, the pinprick before the stab.
Imagine a box.
Stored in it are the most pessimistically intense feelings.
That box has taken residence in the corner on my mind, an illegal tenant searching around for a its own place to call home

It eats sleeps and breathes as I do too willfully ignorant of its presence.
But it's still there and slowly but surely the box creaks open and I begin to hear the sentiments pouring out and stretching in my mind.
Denial is my first defensive move.
I pretend life's a box of chocolates not feelings and i bind my brain in wires and numb it with halfhearted smiles and obsessive perfection
A civil war erupts in my brain
The rebels insecurity and self hatred allied against the rightful leader; acceptance
It's a fight to the death
The rebels pull out the big guns and my body is a battleground
Acceptance begins to question it's views
Neurons are firing at one another

I don’t know what to do

Acceptance fights back, as hard as it can but that’s like trying to move a truck with your pinky, like trying to be heard in a world that can’t hear

Thousand of soldiers haven’t returned from war, prisoners subjected to torment until they begin to believe the deceit of who they originally opposed

And the kingdom believes it has already lost, so it does just that

War has ended, and the rebels have taken control

But see, there is another box now

Stored in it are the most enlightening and mystical feelings

The box has been gently placed in the back of my mind but not closed because in secret i have always wanted it to find its way back to its rightful place on the throne

Acceptance is waiting, building its strength so that it can conquer the rebels and reclaim its home

Like a supernova, it breaks the box and destroys the rebels with a decisive swipe of the hand

and all and everything and the world is fine again.

But my brain is like a roller coaster going up and down and back up and back down

The war is never truly won

Compare my brain to a sine wave of emotions except no formula can calculate the amplitude of my dejection or the frequency of my love.

No one can predict the weather of my mind, it always moving.

Clouds appearing from thin air, hurricanes showing up when my brain is supposed to be in paradise.

I am constantly at war, and I dont think any side will ever win.

This poem is about: 
Me

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