This is a message
To the me
That has been left
Switched to “on”
For what feels like
Too long.

The me
Who’s held a lot in lately,
And is afraid to release.

The me
With the noisy engine
Left running.

The me
Who is frustrated and tired,
But tries not to show it.

To the me
With the circuits whirring,
And the fan buzzing,
Yet still too hot to the touch
From being “on”
For longer than ever before.

The me,
Who’s head and heart
Are heavy,
Who sometimes feels ready
To give up.
But doesn’t.

The version of myself
Who’s smiled more
Than she wanted to,
And made more small talk
Than she thought
She could stand.

The me
Who doesn’t know
What she’s doing,
But is trying to keep
From looking too bothered by it.

To the me
Who’s been “on”
For what what feels like
too long,
Who’s batteries are drained
And doesn’t know how
To recharge.

You’re doing okay,
And I’m proud of you
Even if you’re tired.

People do talk,
And when they talk,
They ask me why I bother with you.

Because it stings
When I walk away.

My siblings,
Looking so far
Down their noses
The rest of us
Look small and insignificant.

I learned a very important
Lesson
When I almost succeeded
In committing suicide.

Suicide wasn’t about how I felt,
It was about how terribly uncomfortable
The attempt made everyone else.
How utterly inconvenient.

I lack finesse
And social grace,
I’m not particularly smart,
Or pretty
Or interesting,
And that makes me
Uncomfortable
For them.

I looked in the mirror
Last night
And made a detailed list
Of all the things I wanted to yell
At each
And every one
Of them.

Then it occurred to me,
Something amazing,
Fantastic even...
Something I should’ve understood
When I tried to tell people
I had been *****.

They
Don’t
Care.

I will destroy myself
In a million ways
To take care of people
Who won’t care about me.

I can throw love,
Money,
Everything
At them,
But nothing matters.

I told people I would’ve cut myself open for
That I tried to **** myself.

Not a call,
Or a text,
Or anything.
Nothing.
Radio silence
Fuzzy in my ears.

Because I don’t matter.
I’m not one of the important ones.

When I was just a girl,
And my face was being freshly painted
By puberty,
They each
Took a knife
And carved their names
Into the bottoms of my feet,
So it would always hurt
When I tried to walk away.

I made my own medicine,
Found the antidote
To the poison.
I’m wrapping my wounds
In bandages,
And I
Am walking
Away.

You were my dream
When I was sixteen,
And my nightmare
Three years later.
Every time I think
I’m starting to forget you
I wake up from a nightmare
Facing your
Cold
Blue
Eyes,
And
Hot
Hot
Breath,
And I know I can never forget.

A full stomach
Feels like giving up.

I finally figured it out.
Put my finger on the rotting tooth
That’s been causing me pain.
I’m all cut up inside
Because I’ll never be enough for them.