Existential Angst

It seems that when I pulled
a part of a poem with this
phrase in it for a college
project, I was naming
my disease, and the thing
that would haunt me from
that moment on.

Existential angst.

I just don't know what to do with myself.

And the real problem is,
neither does anyone else,
which would be fine, but
I know even with my
limited interpersonal skills,
there really shouldn't be
this huge a problem, as I'm
pulling 30, such a sustained
inability to make meaningful
connections with others.

It makes one think that
as far as the world is
concerned, they are pretty
worthless.

I'm arrogent enough to have
assumed otherwise.

Usually, as far as I can
tell, that's not usually
such a stumbling block.

But I could be wrong.

I believe in me.
I believe in me.
I believe in me.