imperfect

I’m not as cheerful, as I used to be.
No longer had I carried a smile on my face, every time.
Am I sad? Doubt it. Probably I just waste too many time, wondering,
How could I be better, How could this be perfect…
And so, (it is so obvious, isn’t it?) I get tired,
Exhausted
Frustrated
Obsessed
Depressed
Because I’m struggling for a lost cause.
And then, someone asks for why am I not ok, and I lie, saying,
I’m just drained. No
It’s all my fault, I can’t simply change, I can’t slow down, I can’t let go
Gosh, I wish, sometimes, to not give a dawn
I hate to carry the weigh of the world, when there is no need.
Sometimes I wish I had the guts to tell them to fuck off.
See? I’m laughing now. But it’s nothing closer to contentment.