This is a feeble exercise In taking apart my flaws In an attempt to better myself

My modesty treads dangerously close towards self deprecation

And I'm torn between independence and the fear of dying alone

 

Blinding myself to the faults of those I attach myself to

I'm fluent in praise, but mute in criticism

I've grown accustomed to expecting the worst

While hoping that this time I'll be wrong

 

My past provides the blueprints I use to predict my future

I'm quick to attach, yet spend eternities letting go

While hiding behind cliche nautical metaphors

The past cannot be fixed, but if I can't fix myself, I'm doomed to a future of repeating history