Optimistically Pessimistic

I’m going to let you in on a little secret,

One that captures the imagination of childhood and demands the attention of the elderly,

It’s a stance on the world,

A stance on what I choose to see.

Some may say I complain a lot,

That the whining isn’t good for my complexion

And I should stop because I will live to regret it.

But I’m a pessimist, at least that’s what I say.

Some though, label me as an optimist: all bright smiles and early laughter.

On the outside I am,

I don’t want to let people know that I’m not

Because it is my pessimist side that prevents me from seeing the good in them.

It tells me that “they’ll laugh at you,

You’re nothing but a fool,

What do you think you’re doing, you’re not good enough for this.”

And then I run back to my bed and huddle under my blankets, taking comfort in my dreams

Until even they turn their backs on me.

Inside, it is a war.

A war against myself.

A war that I cannot possibly win

Because when you’re fighting yourself

You have no victory,

You have no spoils of war,

You only have one broken and crumbled casualty that no one wants to put back together.

The experience I have had in the world has told me, beyond a doubt,

No one wants to handle a broken person,

No one wants to be an accessory to a shadow.

So I’ve turned myself into an optimist,

I’ve forced the smiles, fabricated the laughter,

And pushed out the jokes through gritted teeth,

Wanting more than anything to be able to see the damn sun

But it’s been hidden behind the wall of separation,

The wall of isolation that I had studied so hard and yet could not break.

Yet, it doesn’t stop them from calling me a pessimist,

It doesn’t stop them from poking at my chainmail with their too-sharp rapiers,

Trying to find the holes in my armor that I had covered with homemade remedies

And guarded with my life.

They told me I complained a lot and I had to wave it off,

Telling them that I was a pessimist, but I was optimistically pessimistic,

That when I complain, I’m only doing it because I don’t like the subject,

And not that I’m trying to protect myself from words you’ve only said in my head.

If I had to label myself,

If I had to tell you my worldview in a simple sentence,

I would cower and say that I was optimistically pessimistic

But what I wouldn’t say was that I was forced into this,

That my thoughts were pulled in a thousand different directions by the paralyzing fear

That I concocted in my own head.

And then, I would stand with a smile and say that I am optimistically pessimistic,

Because I have no other choice.