to be honest, maybe i’ve spent my whole life like this. wondering if there’s anything in the world that could make me forget that i exist.
and to be honest, maybe i don’t know who i am if i don’t hate myself. but… maybe it’s time i figured it out.
because there comes a point in everyone’s lives when the past is not enough anymore. when i have a choice. to let it define me, or to let me define it. and i refuse to accept that this is all there is.
so for all the times i’ve said it, i’m not sorry any longer. i’m not your damsel in distress, i’m not your punching bag, or your little kid, and i’m not perfect, or invincible.
but i’m not fucking helpless.
So… to explain the origins of this poem, basically, for a solid four years, I was bullied in school, and I’d be lying if I said that’s why I have anxiety, but it definitely messed me up, and I guess this was just my best attempt at talking back to that part of myself.
glass shards. bleeding fingers. now is not a good time to give up on yourself, you know. now is not a good time to get stomach cramps from worrying all morning, and oh god why is thinking so nauseating? why is it so hard to just keep breathing?
mouse trap, and trip wire, and do you know how many lives depend on you here?
because the thing is… it’s not perfect. it’s never perfect. not like it is in my head. and to be honest, i hate all of this. but here i go. locking the door, and tightening the handcuff, because i don’t trust myself. to say the right thing. to smile wide, and grab your hand, and sing the theme song of some tv show.
because you’re just… you’re not enough. you’re never gonna be enough. you know?
Poetry is really good at this–at describing something I don’t know how else to put into words. I’ve been in such a weird state of late; this thorny, prickly, constantly critical place, and so… I wrote this. I hope I did a good job at capturing something I don’t know any other words for. 🙂
i’m losing control. i know i’m losing my control. and you’re inside of me now. swimming in my throat.
so get away from me. get away from me. because i’m going to explode.
because i’ve been hurt enough times that i am not going to take the risk of letting go. and don’t touch me. get off me. i don’t deserve your love, and in the end you’re only going to reject me. i don’t think i was made for this kind of reality.
so close your eyes, okay? say that you hate me until i beg you not to go, and gouge scars into my chest, right through my clothes. slam the door closed…