• I try so hard to always be the ideal person,
    But lately matters only ever worsen.
    Regardless of my effort, it's never enough.
    My edges have become frayed and rough.

    This is the time I take in quiet
    To mend my seams and calm the riot.
    I need my time to lick my wounds.
    To evaluate the storm that looms.

    Without this time, I'm not so fun.
    Words spoken in anger can't be undone.
    I believe this firmly, and stick by that now,
    But under constant pressure, I almost forget how.

    Nobody is perfect, we should all know this,
    But in my efforts I sometimes remiss.
    It's my flaw that I tend to hide so well
    Under a calm, carefully-constructed shell.

    A shell built of will alone.
    A shell into which I have grown.
    Trying to be the best I can
    Is such a painful, half-baked plan.

    I always say what I think is best.
    I do what I can for all the rest.
    But because of this I'm growing frail.
    My strength is just another veil...

    One I use to serve those in need,
    But cannot use for my own need.
    I need to change this part of me
    Before my control breaks free.

    Before I disband my moral ground
    And push away what happiness I have found.
    To maintain a grip, I need my time
    To seek solace in simple rhyme.