Shell

I ought to quit guessing, I guess.
Find a truer side of me,
one that doesn't change a favorite color every minute from pink to green.
It's hard though, for me,
to decide between being a cowboy or just a girl in skinny jeans.
I used to be so strong in things to say,
but I've had a bitten tongue as of late.
I suppose my thoughts have no taste.
I have too many things calling my name,
every other distraction coming my way.
It would be smart to cull the bad ones,
but they've become a vice I just can't seem to let fade.
Drank too much and still didn't say enough.
I used to think that maybe somewhere deep inside I was tough.
Maybe I am but the hole's too dark for me to find a bottom.
Guess we'll never know.
There I go guessing again.
I suppose you must not mind if you're still reading here towards the end.
Bless your heart.
I don't have much left now,
truth is I've been hunting inside myself for the words.
Something that didn't used to be so hard to find.
I think I'm afraid..
No, I know I'm afraid.
And worse yet, I'm not fighting it.
I'd rather lay down and take it.
That scares me too, that's not the grit I used to have.
But where did it go?
I'm sure I could find somebody to blame.
Call them something that all but used the word 'hate' in their name.
Not much good it's done,
besides make me cuss and cry and broke my fun.
I'm mad I can't shake it.
Ashamed at how little my wrecking ball was.
I guess I didn't quite fall.
Not with someone holding me up, drowning in my heaviness,
taking the kick of my gun.
I'll find it again,
the fearless streak inside me.
And I'll have grown a harder shell to defend myself in.
This isn't just my story, it's a shred of yours too.
So tack your name on it as a promise to yourself,
to kill whatever is ailing you and get back to your truer self.

Xoxo, Gussie