The clearly expected

Why must I always be my worst enemy? I wish my brain could process in waves like the man next to me, but I'm stuck in my endless spiraling loop of self-doubt and the loneliness of the darkest wave trying to wash my cold body. As it's been here a while, swirling and spinning in storm waiting for someone like me.

I will always doubt who I am, I can understand it is because I haven't found the person I want to be. like seasons it changes without consulting. 

Thinking alone, someone will always be someone's enemy. As the rich hate the poor and the lovebirds holding hands find pity in the one waiting for the right time. Tell me how to make it here. Tell me how to feel more than just the black coals of the world's soft underbelly. As all is unclear. 

Giving me instructions on paper and point. would make it worse. Being able to see the outcome truly makes the mind turn sour in stomach. Even then I truly believe I would fall into traps and the tricks of the mind. Even the life we strive for, will it ever be more than imagined?

You are breathing, learning, working, eating, laying with the love of your life, starting fresh, trying, growing gray, lying next to the love of your life, last breaths, holding hands, and darkness. This is the life we are all here to lust, but life forgets to tell you about the horror. Lies, truths, trauma, dread, loss, and wisdom. 

if I were to have known the hurt, if I were to know the lies, maybe I wouldn't have looked at the instructions. To save myself from that, to save myself from expecting the clearly expected. To give myself the best shot of just living not only in this moment but for the moments themselves.

Fun is in favor. Trust is in doubt. What could have i done in all the past of these bones webbed with aura, to have inflicted the clearly so expected? 

Do you know what I truly think the hardest part is? When you become the enemy, when you become those whom you see so much darkness in. As someone within that darkness, I tell you, no one but you is the problem. That's the only thing that has made sense to me. In all the good, in all the honesty I have tried to find within myself to give to others, that truly is what ends up hurting them. I am what hurts people. 

I'm sick. I mean sick to the stomach with the thought of living here. Breathing my own disrupted air, sitting with myself, talking within my own head, and feeling every fucking emotion not even relative to myself. I want peace, I want to find the good. 

I want to be the good, and yet my hands are of fire burning all in my path. Yes blame the past, and yes blame the trauma, but who is going to blame the little pigtailed girl, when she turns into her father of hate and hurt? The world. Within this world seemingly being created by this creator, all is known and premeditated, but little is left right here. Little is understood. She will always be the problem to the elders eyes.

Anger is the thief of so much good time, but all is coring within me. Knowing the best I can give still won't be enough for the worst of hands. Life without living scares me to anger. I don't feel safe here, not anymore, or if I even ever did. The world plays crazy tricks on the right in my heart, something I probably shouldn't even know given my record.

There is no good deed here. All that is in life's deeds include money, fame, and fulfillment. Once you have that don't worry the world will finally make sense. This is the clearly expected.