Sometimes I Hate Myself

Sometimes I hate myself
I wonder if I am like a dusty book on a forgotten shelf
That no one cares about
That does not even deserve a shout

I do things that are wrong
I put them in a song
But nobody listens
They stare into the distance

Sometimes I hate myself
Because of my big mouth
That hurts people
Or makes me sound simple

I do not like being taken for an idiot
And I wish everyone would just forget
The times when I proved myself stupid
Like when I try to play cupid

Who am I to interfere in another's love
When I cannot see in the skys above
A sign of a partner for me
Someone who will set me free

Sometimes I hate myself a lot
Sometimes my face gets so hot
That I feel like I am in Hell
And I am burning in my own loathsome shell

My chest becomes so tight
So much so I think I might
Burst if I cannot say
Help me, help me, I'm in pain

Sometimes I hate myself for being so meek
I can be a coward, and weak
People take advantage of my shock
I guess I deserved all I got

I hate myself for feeling this way
I am so overcome with shame
At thinking myself worthy of care
When I have no painful memories to share

My parents love me
This is clear for all to see
But what they do not view with their eyes
Are my heartfelt cries

I have beautiful, beautiful friends
And think that without their loving hands
I would fall so far and deep into an abyss
That my calls as I plunged into the dark would be missed

The people all around me truly care
But all they can do is stare
At the ice that forms inside my heart
Scarring me, tearing me apart

I have no reason to feel as I do
Yet I know it is true
That things have a purpose
These feelings are not mere coincidence

I was bullied when I was at school
It was because I did not play the fool
I wanted to be talented and smart
I got A's and I considered it an art

I stopped trying at some point
I'm not sure when I let myself disjoint
My outer appearance from the inner
At life, I am such a newbie, a beginner

I try, and try, I really do
Yet I cry, and cry, it's all true
I get so lonely
And in this state, I am the one and only

I know there are others who suffer
And I can't help but put up a buffer
Because I do not want my turmoil to show
I might be like them, but no one must know

Expectations of me exist
They are like a cancerous cyst
It pushes me upwards, so far into space
That I've run out of oxygen, and am suffocating in this place

I hate myself when I am stressed
I am never at my best
When assessment of any kind
Is weighing on my mind

I am lethargic and lazy
My vision gets hazy
As I lose sight of the finish line
And am driven out of my mind

The water washes into my lungs
And from this throat once sung
Kindess, caring, and honest bliss
Now only despair, and cruelty taint these lips

I am drowning in my own misery
I am not at all miserly
With my own life
And this leads me to strife

I kick and fight
I punch and bite
The hand that reaches out
Because I am without

Myself is who I hate because I am always late
To recognize my own mistakes
And when I do it is too late
I have already drastically changed my fate

I hears the snickers echoing
Off the walls of this cave the names are bouncing
They strike me in the face and in the guts
I do try to defend myself, I know I must

Yet the tear drops turn into a river
As I am the receiver, rarely the giver
Of the scorn of society
I do not know what I did to deserve such impropriety

It is all no use, however
It does not matter if I am clever
If I lack the spine for a sharp retort
Or a courageous friend to give much needed support

I hate myself sometimes, for being who I am
I am soft and juicy on the inside like a clam
Yet on the outside I am hard and rough
I angrily, religiously, pretend that I am tough

I place the funeral mask upon my long nose
Who I am, this disguise does not show
My shoes are elegant, the rustling of my gown can be heard
As I prepare for war, dancing to the song of the liar bird

The fires rear up to consume
As I am faced with the doom
Brought about by these hands
I am stolen by the desert sands

I am being buried alive
My hands claw at the dirt as I strive
To keep myself from sinking
As I am thinking “Am I really going to die?”

I stare into the mirror, gazing at my reflection
For myself, I must admit, I have little affection
Nor do others care for this old, decrepit book on that high shelf
It is because of all these things, I think, that I sometimes hate myself