Futility

Futile, futile, everything feels futile.

And I feel like I'm made out of butter when the world requires that I be made out of steel.

How do you live properly in a personal world that has told you for as long as you remember that you are both not enough on the one hand, and are far too much on the other?

And what do you do when you take all of those mean voices, all of those nasty spiteful words from people, and have absorbed them into your own self, so that every time you live, you come from behind and cut yourself off at your own knees?

All of the necessary questions contain answers only I am able to give.  Nobody else truly understands, nobody.  Nobody knows what another person is going through though they be right in front of you.  This is surely a great cosmic joke.  One that is only funny when you look through the prism of Oneness.

I have misplaced that prism right now.  I am tired of this fight to just be able to get through a day on an even keel.  I am so tired of this story.  I wish I could put down my own life and take up someone else's to live through for a change.