Sick of Me

This is based on the poem "Walking Around"(which can be found in my profile), by Pablo Neruda. It was a school assignment, and I think I wrote about the history of this assignment in one of my journals. The only reason I posted this was not because I think it's good, but because it felt really good to write about all of the stuff that I've realized I'm tired of. It's a journal, in poetry form. I think more people should read the original poem.

It so happens I am sick of being me

That I have so much to say, but no audience

Or if I do have an audience, it’s not a willing one

And definitely not one that would understand.

I am tired of having to do things against my will

And competing in things that mean nothing to me

Just because other people think I should.

I don’t have time for the consequences

So I go along with it.

I hate the automatic thoughts that come when a person looks at me

Whether based on my age, gender, or appearance.

I don’t like first impressions, I don’t think you can know or judge a person by one meeting.

I wish more people took the time to get to know me,

So that next time, they wouldn’t be surprised and say

“I never knew you could” or “I can’t believe you just…”

I knew I could. I wish you had known too.

I wish I could read people’s minds and know what they said when I wasn’t there.

I hate keeping secrets and telling lies

I do both daily

Everyone puts other people down to feel better. I would be a hypocrite if I said I didn’t do the same.

I think it is part of being a girl.

I am sick of being a girl

because it means you’re never totally honest

and most of the stuff you do is to impress people, instead of making yourself happy.

I wish I could improve myself to my own liking

But if I did, they would be disappointed

So I know that I wouldn’t be happy either way.

I am tired of people telling me to do things because it will make me a better person.

How would you know what’s good for me?

And when I am finally ready for something, I can’t stand when other people take credit

for helping me get there.

If I’m not ready to do something, you can’t make me do it, no matter how hard you try.

I will be ready on my own time.

Maybe I seem quiet, but if you really knew me

you’d know that I can be as loud as I want to

and perfectly aggressive,

when I want to be.

I’m tired of looking in the mirror

And wishing that what I saw was different.

And I wish that someone would agree with me in all seriousness when I said I wasn’t happy

with what I saw,

And not just tell me that I have nothing to worry about.

I have plenty of things to worry about.

I wish I could edit myself.

I am not satisfied.

I guess I seem happy to other people.

I don’t openly crack under pressure.

But that doesn’t mean that I am happy with being me.