What It Means To Be Human

I feel this emptiness within me.
Deprivation? Loneliness?
It’s hard to say.
Should I go to a doctor
and list off my symptoms?
Or should I just live day after day
In my invisible dilemma?
Solidarity is something I thrive on.
Is there even a diagnoses
For my combination of flaws?
Irregular breathing,
The longing at the end of the day
and aches in my ribcage.
There’s a sinking feeling in my chest,
as if an anchor, tied to my lungs
Slowly sinks down toward my spine
Yet my heart still beats
A consistent ,familiar rhythm–
syncopated and Lethargic.
Repetition– insanity? Not exactly.
Repetition– Comfort? Maybe.
Am I overthinking again? Most likely.
I walk with my head held unsure,
But insecurity is the only thing
I can confidently admit to.
Isn’t that unfair?
Well life is like that I hear–
A contradiction an imperfect balance.
At least mine’s irony
And irony is art–
And art is beautiful right?
If only it was so simple.