I am so full up of uncertainty
and everybody knows more than me
still mythologising my own failings
obsessively caught in pervasive self-hatred
so caught up in how I should be
what I could have been by 23
nervously disappointing in coffee shops
breaking down in bar toilets – I will
never be able to work alone, to waste
away – to lie down and die on a beach
nobody burns out and dies at 22
but it is still my fault, day after day
that social cues evade me, success
is not yet mine – but I have to be alive
to see the sun rise another morning
over the Royal Pavilion, to the West
of my beautiful sea, and if nothing
else, that will be enough for me


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