you cannot make people happy
if discontentment is ingrained
like a stick of rock
written through with the word pain

and i am drowning –
in my own naivety
and i am drunk –
on my own immaturity

i have met a deluge of people –
in my life
many have told me –
they are right

people –
caught in the swell
and feelings –
of their own values

i look back on younger me
with my mental health
and threads of toxicity

wrap arms around me
so that –
‘not good enough’
is chased far away

i never had the luxury –
of giving up
the moment –
of a pick me up

i am the person
where,
my best is often –
not enough
or it is not correct