The only foreign whip that I hop in Is beating myself up, confined to this...skin. After all, what are the other options? If I never find out who I am I'll never be in your top 10.

But do I really want that? To be in the spotlight so long It jumbles perspectives like tangrams; Scattered body language looking like an anagram, Introducing anxiety, panic, and asthma: A trio that constantly attacks.

Despite learning from mistakes Self-sabotage jumps me after class.

Self-sabotage is curing all the symptoms And then going and reinventing the illness.

Self-sabotage is missing my own birthday Because at midnight the clock struck And I felt stuck;

More concerned about my expiration date, Or if I deserve to go on dates, Or if the hospital is where I commit to always stay, Or if bills will go unpaid,

Or if I should be my only villain, Just to prove I'm someone That the heroes I create will want to save.