The only title this post needs is that I shouldn't be posting this

I shouldn't be going by what I feel, I shouldn't have to use this to let it all out.

My days are increasing as numbers unfold,
And give way to new birth of month;
My pain it is growing,
And numb is my brain,
I love not the wisdom of old.

The sayings of wise and the thoughts of the gray,
They hold all the truth of the path;
The beatings of wardrums,
They deafen the joy,
That have not, I've been told I may.

I'm losing the sight of the threshhold above,
With every new rung that I climb;
I'm scared of the falling,
With my weakened heart,
And doubting that my path is love.

Lived this way I have for all my last four years,
And always been told I was wrong;
Lived then by my feelings,
And rarely by fact,
Now seeking the shelter of tears.

This shelter I've sought and had comfort before,
It never has failed me yet;
This is my shought pleasure,
It yet should not be,
For Others can comfort me more.