My Slap-Myself Thing

waterfall from skies compete with my thoughts must be doing something else, yet here I am, Here. I am. Again. Why do I keep coming back here?!? A mental shake, as I chastise myself I shouldn't be here, don't belong here anymore. Most likely, I never did, just pushed myself in this place. But I feel like a homing pigeon, where this is the only place I know that I can be and not be. Where I can hide and expose myself at the same time. With repercussions? Maybe. I sit in my own corner and immerse myself in the chatter, the laughter, and other matters Nobody really notices me, but that's ok. I'm getting used to it. I guess I keep coming back here for that sense of familiarity, of a somewhat home, for the memories. Of myself in happier times, of a chapter in my life that I have written yet somehow botched up. Badly, so badly that the words are all swimming in their own tears Oozing ink, drowning. But it shouldn't surprise me anymore? This is me? Of course I will always somehow manage to mess things up. Some ways more than the others, 'my-esque' askewness For some, that chapter in my life is of course negligible. An erasable footnote perhaps? It hurts, but we all have our own worlds, where you may not be as important to others as you thought, as you wanted to be. There I went, pushing myself again, only to be pushed away with a thousand mile barrier of silence. All along, being dust in that corner. I gulp a bucket of tears, because I will not deny it-- how much it hurts. Still. But like what I say, have to get used to it. My hands are cold, and I wipe snot from my nose, a dainty trickle of snot, but snot nonetheless, have had my snot-in-sheets phase, so this is progress, that trickle. 1234, my clock says, 12345678910, I count to myself collecting, breathing slowly needles in my feet and shivering Gosh, can I get any more pathetic?! Yes, I have and I bet I will still be so. No, this is not a pity-me thing, more like a slap-myself thing So I can look back, read this and say to myself: Others have it harder than you, yet they stand, I'm here sitting, yet others stand. ... the sky is still drumming the earth with water and my eyes are threatening to do a duet. Again. I chide myself, Enough now. For my bags under my eyes are already so smooth, too deep Too weathered and soaked for a year. ----> 'slap-myself thing', remember?? Remember.