You know I feel like an asshole
Because I think I’m better than other people.
And there’s no way to justify that;
It’s just sort of how I think and operate.
I don’t want to think that, I promise, but
I do want to be better than other people;
And it’s that that I don’t know how to feel about.
Because one level it’s a good thing, to try harder,
Depending on how you measure the goodness of a person—
But on the levels that actually matter,
It’s impossible to be better than anyone else,
And it wouldn’t even mean anything.
I just feel bad for telling myself these stories
That people like me and it’s a good thing
And I earned it and made it that way and I deserve it
And I’ll even tell myself stories that
Some other kid is jealous of me
And I see his sad face and I’m happy about it.
And I hate that.
I was even trying to justify to myself the other day
(And actually, I was trying to justify it to my one of my best friends too,
And that’s awful; I wasn’t even ashamed of it)
That it’s okay to have people you just let go of:
Like the asshole in class who only sounds smart
Or someone who looks ugly and annoying just by their face
Or someone you walk by and just get the creeps from their hair
Or a douche that you and your friends gang up on
And it’s behind their back and fun and games
And you try to say, “I don’t actually treat them bad.”
But you know it’s bullshit.
I mean me. I know.
I don’t love people like I think I do.
I know I’m just looking out for myself
And even writing about it:
I know I just want you to know that I know I suck
And I just want to say it so I can stop feeling it
And I can tell myself I’m “sharing” and “teaching”
But you already know how messed up everything is.
It’s not like “admitting is ever fixing.”
It’s the first step, and that just means it’s one step
So that I can say I tried and then I failed.
But at least I tried. That’s all I want to do.
And I could go on forever about how self-deprecation
Isn’t going to do me any good and nothing’s ever going to do me any good
And that’s where God comes in to resolve the issue.
But I can’t do that right now.
I don’t know why but I can’t give any cheap answer about grace this time.
I can’t pretend to know what that means and what it looks like.
It doesn’t look like words right now.
It looks like deeds.
And no one can do anything about any of it right now.
I know one of my favorite artists said recently
That he’s sick of writing songs about himself
And I don’t think I can get there.
There’s just so much shit that I want to fix about myself
And the only thing I know how to do is write through it.
Fix it in theory. Make sense of it. Explain it away.
Make myself feel like it’s okay.
Because I guess really it is.
I mean, that’s where God really does come in.
But I still don’t want to that grace-shit answer.
It’s just not enough. Not right now. Not this time.
And I’m not enough either. I can’t fix it.
There’s really nothing I can do about it.
The other option is patience.
I wish I could get into that cliche too,
But I’m just not ready. There’s not enough mystery.
I just wish someone could tell me I was wrong.
I don’t like telling myself I’m wrong all the time.
I want someone to criticize me again.
I’ve been telling friends that I’m “doing really well, actually”
And I just want someone to break it all apart.
I’m not even paranoid that it’s going to fall apart anymore.
I was worried, at about Week 2 of things going well,
That it would just collapse randomly.
That all the subtle shit would come out and scare me.
But it didn’t.
Instead I have this.
And the problem isn’t any thing; it’s just me.
And the answer isn’t God: it’s just Stop.
It is God. And the answer is actually Go.
Or more like Go Ahead.
There’s nothing you can do.
You’re not in control.
You’re a control freak
And you just have to live with it.
Neither Nobody cares about you nor Everyone is love with you
Are true, and neither of them could ever be true.
You hardly matter.
You hardly exist.
Stop pretending that it even matters what you think.
They don’t even know you’re jealous of them;
They don’t even know you think they’re jealous of you.
They’re all dealing with their own shit.
They watch TV and forget.
You write and do the same.
Stop. Go. It doesn’t even matter.
This won’t be resolved tonight.
And patience is its own problem.
That it’s a problem is the problem.
There are so many other more obvious problems.
Go deal with those, if you’re a control freak.
Control what you can control.
And that’s it.
It’s not some all-or-nothing bullshit.
Just stop writing,
Let them resolve it themselves.
You’ve done what you can.
Stop this. Go do that.
Just shut your mouth.
Unless you’re saying thank you.
That’s another cliche.
But it’s fine.