My Feel

It is this feeling which I have
A feeling that is simultaneously close yet far
This sense
This pallid, overhanging sense
That in the dependent independence in which I live
That in that world where light and dark intertwine
That in this stage where childhood is old
Yet adulthood is new
That I feel as though I were numb
As though I were floating through clouds amidst the dark night sky
My own thoughts and ideas
My desire to be as I am
That rebellion in the depths of my mind
That a part of me wishes to unleash
While another part of me wants to hold it back
This sense of mine own hypocrisy
In entertaining thoughts of rebellion and independence
While allowing myself to be under the grasp of my family and the expectations by which I live
Wanting to head into a new world
Trying to break from the bubble of youth
From the bubble of the short life which I have lived
Branching out into the placid yet turbulent waters of friendship
Finding some in whom I could confide and rely
And finding others who fade in and out like lights from dusk to dawn
Sometimes friends are ephemeral
Even I myself am ephemeral
And like all men
A petty animal
A liberated captive
A freed prisoner
Who in not knowing what to expect
Has learned that in expecting the least
That the most is given
That amongst family, resistance is futile
That amongst friends, there are few that can be counted on
For what is my life?
What is my life?
What is my life but momentary fragments of rebellion interspersed with mine own hypocrisy?
What is my life but knowing that I cannot count on everyone I know to be dependable?
What is my life but knowing that after the glorious heights of excitement comes a heavy fall?
What is my life to myself?
What is my life to my family?
What is my life to my friends?
What is my life to the people whom I interact with day by day by day?
It feels rather insignificant, this thing I do
Putting words on a paper knowing that few will care
Yet catharsis overpowers concern
Catharsis is the feeling that I wish to have
But at this moment, I feel numb
Many of the things I care for are not as important
Because in the end, I don’t see myself as important
I see myself as a hypocritical, deluded, wannabe writer son of a bitch that has nothing better to do with his life
If it weren’t for my cowardice and my own desire not to break the bounds of faith that have in me held themselves, a part of me would go ahead and try to end it all
But I cannot in good conscience do that
I must soldier on
Doing with I’m told
Pleasing people from A to Z
Feeling as though my life has been a foolish game
Seeing that I have so much on my end
And yet so little at the same time
Wanting both to linger in the shadows by my lonesome
And head on out into the spotlights of friendship and society
Knowing that things don’t work as I wish
Wishing that they did
Yet knowing that if they worked as I wished, that it would be awful for everyone
Time keeps going on
The clock keeps ticking
Tick, tock
Tick, tock
Tick, tock
Tick, tock
Tick, tock
I know the day will close on my hypocritical self
I fear death’s embrace despite knowing that he is a fuel of life
But what is this numbness I have but a sort of emotional death?
I may physically be alive
I may look and be the same person
But there’s something in my head
This numbness that shrouds all
And that something is not me
Frankly, I’ve rambled on too long
This to most would be a piece between the realms of sanity and insanity
And though insanity is not what I feel
I would be lying if I said that everything is totally sane
And yet, this feeling will fade
As in the end, I’ll keep carrying on, holding back all of what I have