I Am Nothing...
I am nothing to myself,
But everything to everyone else.
I know I have the issues I do, but do they?
I am nothing to myself,
But everything to everyone else.
Slippery slope, sounds fun huh? No.
It starts with a title…
Whore, slut, faggot, ugly, fat, stupid.
Think of it, I’ve heard it.
Then comes the thoughts…
"Am I really?" "What did I do?"
"Why do I feel this way?" "Why won’t it stop?"
Here comes the diagnoses…
By doctors we’re are told what we have,
We define ourselves by those terms.
“You’re depressed” “You have anger issues”
“You have OCD” “You gave PTSD”
Constantly we’re told what we are, who we are.
That goes back to the beginning,
New title, new thoughts.
New thoughts, new diagnoses.
It never ends.
I am nothing to myself,
But everything to everyone else.
I know I have the issues I do, but do they?
Something wrong with this poem?
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