Insight (Into Me)

Many people see me, but do not know me.
I understand how that must feel.
Sometimes I barely understand myself too.
I am discovering myself further everyday.
Learning while I work and while I play.

17 years I have lived with me.
Yet, I still find new ways to surprise myself.
New boundaries to push and test.
New extremes to subject myself to.
New places to go and things to do.

They say I have many talents.
Don't be deceived. It's not true.
As far as I know, I only have two;
The ability to learn,
And a powerful determination
To attain that which I yearn.

I'm lazy but I dream big.
This is both a blessing and a curse.
Because sometimes, my ability is my own hearse.
When I have a goal, be it in a day or a year,
I strap up my boots and I work my way there.

I can be unrealistically optimistic.
An impossiblist if you will, it's unhealthy.
Because when I set a goal beyond my grasp,
My failure is inevitable.
Failure is followed by self-reproach.
Self-reproach invites INSECURITIES.
I am riddled by many of those.

Ugh, the pressure is immense.
It crushes me in every sense.
Physically, mentally, emotionally.
It harasses me from all sides.
From my parents, peers, society and from inside.

I fear mediocrity, it's an idea I cannot bear.
But not in itself. In reality, it is my potential I fear.
They say ignorance is bliss and such it is shown.
Because left to myself, I would not have known
Of this "potential" hidden in me
That everyone else tends to see.

But now it has been spoken of, I am aware
It would be a shame to let it waste away
I must blossom and develop a name
A legacy to look back and smile on when I am old and gray.
However, this lays a question heavy on my breast
And I need to address it to experience rest.

In all honesty, who do I do this for?
Is it really for me? Or do I labour for the score
Of people who implore that I can amount to more?
Do I work myself sore for those who adore my candor
And those who find valor in my fulfillment of the requirements
Of those who came before?

I try to convince myself that I sweat for me.
That my passions are my passions because na so dem be.
But when I fail at something, I don't feel quite the same.
What if I am not who I think and someone else is to blame?
Can you really term me 'intelligent' based on numbers on a sheet?

There's so much on my mind, I don't know what to say.
I started this in fitful rage but it seems my anger has faded away.
I think I was angry at myself, I can't even remember why.
But I've now sunk more into thought than I was before.
I cant' even maintain a train of reasoning anymore.

Screw this, I'm going to get food.