Inadequacies and Insecurities

DISCLAIMER: This is my first attempt at a poem. Most of the lines don't rhyme. I couldn't even think of a suitable title. Oh well, practise makes perfect. Happy reading...

When did I become so boring?

Is it this something new or has it always been like this and I never realised it?

I could hide under the covers and say I decided to grow up very fast and do 'grown up' things

But that would be a lie because these times are not like the past times

Young people do what they love and get money from it

It is not like before when jobs were forced on people to earn a living

We now choose what we love to do and if it makes us money, even better!

I could say I chose a 'serious' course

But that does not give me an excuse to be boring

I should be the life of the party

The one who leaves people yearning, tongues wagging

Yet I am not

I walk these streets almost like a ghost

No, wait, a ghost leaves people in terror

I just move around like vapour

No effect, just there

I desire to be different

Change the cards I have been dealt

Make a difference

But  I hold back

Knowing that in some way I lack

the ways to make me hack

I am drowning

But I am not sinking

I am crying but you cannot see it

Everyday I see your record of accomplishments

I was taught not to compare myself with the rest

That my biggest competitor is me and myself

But I cannot close my eyes to this

This is too big

Too much to handle

When did you get to be this way? 

Did I miss the success bus?

Is it too late to get on?

Or was that the last bus going that direction?

I hope that it is not too late

That at some point I will realise my true destiny

That this bubble of self pity will burst

And I shall get a ride to my success

Perhaps I should enjoy the journey

And not torture myself about the future

I will find out what my true love is; my passion

The one that keeps me up till late each night and makes me arise every morning 

Up until then I shall observe you

Learn from you

See what it is that makes you tick

Hear what about you makes tongues flick

With my notebook and pen

I shall write down in red

Perhaps with a turban on my head

And I shall start my tread

Not with  a thread nor a dread 

But with a longing, a knowing that one day I shall be  what I am destined to be