When

It seems that more often than not,
I can take a good thing and make it bad.
I sometimes find myself thinking,
Of reasons to be sad.
I don't really understand why,
I can take a heart.
As precious as my own.
Twist it, turn it,
And turn it into stone.
I can look into the mirror,
And see a monster on the wall.
I can't see the beauty in anything,
I see nothing good in me at all.
I can show the world,
That I do really care.
But have no compassion for myself.
After all, what really is there.
What is there to care for,
What is there to love about being me.
Whatever it is,
It is something that I can not see.
Maybe someday I will find that thing,
That makes me feel good again.
Maybe I find that special piece,
The only question is, When?