I’m recognizing a pattern —
I noticed it before, but I hoped it was not true.

This shadow that follows me, it devours any connection that I try to have.
It evokes fear, causes others to fade away —
I’m not worthy, is a spiralling thought that never leaves.
I talk too much, feel too much, care too much.
I need to shrink myself, detach myself to my own emotions.

But it’s easier said than done, I don’t want to shrink.
I’ve made myself digestible so many times, only to spit out with disgust.
And the pattern repeats itself.

It burns the heart —
When realization hits, you were playing a game that they never told you about.

You stand at the centre of the board —
mocked, shamed for not following the enigmatic rules.

There are shadows that follow me,
haunting and taunting me.

There are shadows that follow me,
ravenous, salivating, ready to consume me.

They speak ever so sweetly, all the while threading each word with malignancy.

There are shadows that follow me,
I straighten my spine, while I feel them caress me.

There are shadows that follow me,
Paralyzed, while they devour me.

There were shadows that followed me.

Dear self,
Who am I, really?
I’ve grown up to follow the teachings of other,
Of being other —
But never be myself.