I’m doing fantastic, catastrophically stable, Got a head full of problems and a grin for the table, I’m a walking paradox, a medical fable, Putting all my bad decisions on a decorative label. I’m a first-class passenger aboard my decline, Got a five-year plan that expired in ‘09, I’m profoundly self-aware, which is fucking divine, I can name all my flaws but can’t fix a single line. Got a brain like a courtroom, the jury’s corrupt, Got a heart full of hope that keeps getting fucked up, I’m an expert at pretending that I’ve got my shit together, Like a snowman giving lectures on surviving the weather. I’m sarcastic, fantastic, aggressively blessed, Got a thousand little thoughts fighting over my chest, If composure is a talent, I’m objectively stressed, But I’m dressed for the occasion, so I guess I’m impressed. I’m tired of pretending that I’m having a good time, Of saying that I’m happy when I’m barely getting by. But there’s music in the kitchen, and we’re laughing at the mess, And for a minute, I forget that I’m a beautiful wreck. So let the world keep spinning, let tomorrow do its worst, I’ve survived a hundred endings, I’ve been through the fucking worst. I don’t need to have it figured out, don’t need to be okay, If all we’ve got is right now, then let’s make it worth the pain. I’m a psychological puzzle with a missing fucking piece, Trying to negotiate a lifelong hostage crisis with my peace. Got ambitions astronomical, finances abysmal, And a talent for converting minor setbacks into missiles. I’m the CEO of overthinking, business is booming, My inner critic’s got a penthouse, and the bastard’s redecorating. Got a doctorate in doubt, honorary degree in regret, I’m the best worst-case scenario the world has ever met. I can intellectualize a feeling till it doesn’t feel real, Put a thesaurus on the trauma, call it emotional appeal. I’m dissecting my existence like a frog in biology, Then wondering why the pieces don’t resemble the original me. But I’m still here, still weird, still making people laugh, Still taking life’s absurdities and cutting them in half. I can turn a minor inconvenience to a Shakespearean tragedy, Then trip over my own feet while discussing human fallacy. I’m tired of pretending that I’m having a good time, Of saying that I’m happy when I’m barely getting by. But there’s music in the kitchen, and we’re laughing at the mess, And for a minute, I forget that I’m a beautiful wreck. So let the world keep spinning, let tomorrow do its worst, I’ve survived a hundred endings, I’ve been through the fucking worst. I don’t need to have it figured out, don’t need to be okay, If all we’ve got is right now, then let’s make it worth the pain. Forget being perfect, I’m allergic to the premise, Life handed me a script, so I improvised the sentence. Got a mind full of mayhem and a heart that won’t quit, I’m a walking contradiction with a surprisingly good wit. I’m not enlightened, I’m just tired of being cynical, Still catastrophizing shit that isn’t even probable. I’m a work in progress, not a monument to pain, Just a lunatic with punchlines trying not to lose his brain. And perhaps that’s the beauty, in the mess and the madness, Finding little bits of joy in the middle of the sadness. I don’t need a grand conclusion or a cinematic view, Just a room full of laughter and a reason to push through. I’m done with pretending that I’m having a good time, But I’ll dance here in the kitchen while we’re barely getting by. Let the dishes pile up, let the whole world be a mess, We don’t have to be perfect just to feel a little less. Let tomorrow bring its troubles, let the future rearrange, I’ve been broken, I’ve been bitter, I’ve been terrified of change. I don’t need to have it figured out, don’t need to be okay, If we’re still here laughing together, THEN WE’RE DOING GREAT.
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