Aug 21, 2012

I Can't.

Written halfway through freshman year of college.

I can't be a genius.
I can't fight or wrestle.
I can't throw.
I can't do a good pistol squat with my right leg.
I can't bench 250.
I can't sleep responsibly.
I can't compose music.
I can't get myself to stop eating crap.
I can't talk to my roommate.
I can't stop hating big jocks.
I can't get my priorities straight. 
I can't do those awkward passing "hi" things to people you know but don't really know...you know?
I can't seem to find the energy anymore to be social.
I can't get over my stupid prejudices with people. Not racial, just personal.
I can't run a mile under 5 minutes.
I can't get my arms to bulk up. No matter how much I work out.
I can't stop saying or thinking "your mom" at any remotely applicable audible phrase.
I can't go back in time.
I can't hear things sometimes. Really, it's a diagnosed problem.
I can't remember peoples' names. 
I can't stop loving my niece. Even though I haven't seen her since Christmas.
I can't stop judging people.
I can't get good grades in my online statistics homework. Seriously, I want to shoot the idiot who rounded those answers wrong.
I can't respect someone simply because they're in a position of authority over me.
I can't stop giving in when I should stand tall.
I can't be a man whenever I actually need to be.
I can't pay attention in accounting.
I can't stand it when my room's messy.
I can't do something well without getting insanely focused on it. And usually getting made fun of from my intensity.
I can't stand it when people get bullied. And how I've become numb to that fact.
I can't do something I should if I don't want to.
I can't trust God.
I can't understand why writing helps. But it does.