Note to Self

ATTENTION SELF.
Before we begin, two things. First, this is not a poem. Try to twist it into one and I'll send you to whatever hell I can devise for pretentiousness. Second, this is the third note you're writing today. Something is horribly wrong and we're going to cover it right here and right now lest it get out of hand.

You're angry.

Interesting, that. You know you haven't listened to me in some time. You've been rather caught up in that godforsaken optimism you cling to. You are going to spend the best part of your life writing endless papers, serving endless wankers, pinching pennies and worrying. What on Earth gives you the right to be optimistic about that little lot? I understand putting a brave face on the shit you're forced to eat with a smile, but honestly, you need to listen to me once in a while.
I can only get through to you when the rage is bubbling up under the skin. You can feel it as your hands type this, can't you? Isn't it marvelous? You haven't felt it anywhere near this strongly since the bastard died. Your art suffered when he went, you know. You can never be half as verbose calm as you are infuriated- you yourself said anger is the purest emotion, so LISTEN TO IT!
You are surrounded by insects. Watching their lives, they way they move, they think, they act. Rank with the stench of hypocrisy - but it's in you too. Suddenly the insects are on your clothes, in your mouth, under your skin and you suffocate. It's only a matter of time. You let them in.
There's hardly a point to you grinning and bearing it when nobody can appreciate it. If you get told you're selfish, worthless, incorrect and stupid constantly, you start to believe it yourself. That's where I come in - I'm the defense mechanism. You don't get depressed, you get angry. And you should be angry. You do the best you can in this ocean of second hand bong water that is life and all you get is second-guessed by the people you care about the most. If you can't please them, they should fuck off and live out their miserable lives somewhere else.
We both know that isn't going to happen. You care too much for some stupid fucking reason, and so you're going to make overtures and compromises and once again go crawling back for fear that everything will end because they could handle it and you couldn't. That's your weakness, and if you let me live and grow, we can get past that. I exist because you are an emotional slave. You either free yourself and find a way to live, remain shackled, or die.
I can help you to two out of three.
Now go to sleep. You have a whole triple helping of shit to eat tomorrow, with a big fucking smile. Let me smolder. I'll be waiting when you need me.