I'm not staying,
it's my blame.
I'll leave the innocent;
I'm not the same.
I've got blood on my hands.
Pressure to understand.
You're right.
You've always been.
I tend to forget.
I won't bother you,
still my existence bothers me.
My mind smothers me.
The nights scare me;
comfort is scarce.
The dark makes things worse,
and this silence hurts.
It can be so loud,
the noise of nothing.
The sounds of your thoughts,
utterly isolated.
I love y'all;
but I don't love myself
I can't live up to what you all think of me-

If I could
I would have chosen as a pet
the delicate creases
left by your feet
in the wet sand
I would have fenced them
in a comforting womb
made of splendid castles
of sea and sand and shoal
waiting for them to deepen
into fine groves where I can seed
the scent of brine
the salt of your taste
the gleam of your eyes
cultivating all
so they can grow and feed
my awe stricken soul

“You’re not good enough”
Is the one sentence you should
Never tell yourself.