'You Can't Manage By Yourself' by Ravyn LaRue

I so wish-
Not to be the sort-
Who only proclaims her own perilous tragedies-
Saddens the world, but not for the better-
I need to make a positive impact in the world-
Regardless of how small that tiny dent may be-
I don't just want to be surface either-
I feel like, more likely than not, my lamentations are far more substantial than my joyful shouts of clouds and comedy-
I don't even understand myself in the least-
But I suppose that's a good thing, in a way.
If I stood solid on the slippery shore-
I'd be far more surprised when the time came for me to fall into the midst of the lake or ocean.
I've decorated my life in such a way that I like it-
But I don't mean to be a blemish on the cheek of existence, either.
Who knows-
I wind up only rambling.
That's what more than half of my little life is, I'm sure.
And I have more important things to do-
Not better, just more important.
And half of me wants to stay syncopated and all that-
The other half wants to do everything wrong-
Meander about naked and tattooed and radiating all that may seem dangerous.
I'm being useless, though, now.
Too ashamed and cowardly to subscribe fully to either.
Things are happy but trembling with residual hurt, here.
And many want me to leave, and although it may seem difficult-
I've seen much worse, babe, much worse.
It's just for once I have to cope with being alone with my thoughts.
So many find that uncomfortable.
And I haven't before, only because of my imaginary friends, and you, of course.
I become one track minded in times like that-
And often times that track skips and repeats in contorted conversations like a broken record.
I'm all too vague, and soon enough I must cleanse my soul and own up to it all.
I made a promise I would never never break.
And so-
This is me revving up, so to speak.
I have my launching points, and they're all the same.
They always have been, darling.
I'm a creature of habit, as much as I may hate and fight against it.
But I need to be good now.
Give a slight attempt to be halfway decent.
Oh, but of course, that doesn't exist.
But we all like to pretend, now don't we, dear?