Reject me with a reason, so I know what to fix
Tell me you hate me, outright, so I don’t drown in self-doubt, wondering
Talk about me behind my back but don’t say nothing
Care that I am alive, or I mightn’t be
No matter what’s in the package if one can’t see past this logo
A society simultaneously embracing mental health issues but still
judging from the perch of billboards and bandwidths so
no better off at all, not at all
It’s a cycle I recognize, once, twice a year
A horrible angst of crippling insecurity
Pride in tact as I deal with it, this round, in my foxhole for one
But it’s also terribly intense this way, even scary
Afraid to go for a walk to clear my head
For fear of social disease rather than physical disease
So the mental disease festers
I called Paul
Everyone seems so damn righteous whereas I feel horribly unsure
About absolutely everything except one thing, the singing
I called Paul, begging
So it’s back to Bobcaygeon, I go
To stop peering through The Almighty Portal
To instead see myself through his eyes, a Diva
To make music, create, write, sing, be holy
Secret salvation.
