Circles and Repetitions

my mind always thinks it’s a competition,
between me and my intuition,
repeating over and over lies I can’t deny,
but on them, I rely.
I’ve never even been given the second chance,
always kicked out in the first glance,
the loops and hoops of my empty mind not loved,
making me believe I couldn’t have the doubt of the word.
on every and each dream I have,
I compete with myself who will be the most
to be paranoid,
and share,
and hate the repetitions and inhibitions to be,
and hate the real to see.
the storm comes from the beginning of my stomach,
and my hands shake in the name of a bruised scratch.
I can’t deal with this emotion,
I don’t want any commotion,
and from the bottom of my lungs I scream,
how I hate to be me,
how I hate others to see,
what I was meant to be.