I do not like my state of mind; <br />I'm bitter, querulous, unkind. <br />I hate my legs, I hate my hands, <br />I do not yearn for lovelier lands. <br />I dread the dawn's recurrent light; <br />I hate to go to bed at night. <br />I snoot at simple, earnest folk. <br />I cannot take the gentlest joke. <br />I find no peace in paint or type. <br />My world is but a lot of tripe. <br />I'm disillusioned, empty-breasted. <br />For what I think, I'd be arrested. <br />I am not sick, I am not well. <br />My quondam dreams are shot to hell. <br />My soul is crushed, my spirit sore; <br />I do not like me any more. <br />I cavil, quarrel, grumble, grouse. <br />I ponder on the narrow house. <br />I shudder at the thought of men.... <br />I'm due to fall in love again.<br /><br />Dorothy Parker<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/symptom-recital/
