the sickness with thoughts

People don't scare me.
It's their thoughts that strike me with fear.

When things bother me and eat away at me, I push them so far in the back of my skull it stings.
It bothers me that I can't deal with bothersome things.

I carry myself with a sense of confidence because if I didn't, everyone would know how insecure I am.
Then I think, who isn't insecure?
Its humorous in terms of, if you're overly confident or utterly insecure, there's something wrong with you.

I want to have worthwhile secrets.
I want to be a mystery.
But in all reality, everyone is just a mystery to me.
Is being predictable a weakness?

I strive to be artsy with little or no talent.
But to me, that in and of itself, is a talent.

I want my words to hold significance, I want to be adored.

I guess this is where my thoughts usually end up.
This being the case, its concerns me, because most of my thoughts, aren't even for me.

I find cancer in my thoughts. Each contaminating the next like blood cells stuck in a vein.
Inescapable cancer, that no matter what I try to cure it with, spreads, further and deeper into my body.
I'm afraid to see what happens when it reaches the surface.

I'm afraid of the bruises that lie beneath my thick layer of skin.

I find justification in feeling this way when I remember everyone feels this way.
That everyone is hard on themselves.