I Write As a Form of Therapy

I keep myself occupied so that I can drown out my thoughts.

After all, an idle mind is the devil’s workshop.

It’s just that when the flurry of activity dies down, I don’t know what it all means.

I don’t know who I am. It feels like I play a part whenever I leave the house.

Who am I without my thoughts?

I get lost in the roles that I play, and I don’t know what they all mean.

Deep down I don’t think anyone truly loves me, no matter what they say.

What they do says more than whatever sweet nothings they whisper.

And they all say, “You are not worth the trouble.”