Here’s a tricky question for you
Why do I have to do everything
In the most complicated way
I can possibly find?
Is there something wrong with me?
Constantly placing more work
On shoulders already burdened
With troubles of varying nature.
Academic, social, economical
You name it, I’ve made it
Far more complicated
Than it should be.
It’s not even an intentional thing
It just seems to happen.
Nothing I can do about it.

So, back to my question.
What would your response,
Your immediate response have been?
Would you have told me
That I had just been unlucky?
That things would get better soon?
That would make you a fake friend.
You don’t really care that much
Just you have nothing better to do
Than offer general words of comfort.
No doubt your words would help,
For a bit, but before long
I would start to wonder all over again.

Or would you have told me
That you were really sorry
But you had no idea why
I make my life so damn complicated?
That would make you a good friend
One who values honesty and trust
And would never think of lying to me

Or would you be a true friend?
A friend whose words always,
Without fail, pick you up
Set you on your feet
And console your confused mind
With the simplest of sentences.
Your reply to my question,
So original, so simple, so obvious
That I can’t believe I didn’t think of it myself
Your reply? You told me, quite simply,
Quite bluntly, that the explanation,
The whole reason I make my life complicated
Is down to the fact that
I am complex person.