I'll post it.
Once I have grown sick and tired.
Of my own words.
My own thoughts.
When I'm no longer satisfied with my stupid dribble.
Then, I can post the poem.
If I still care about what I've written down I'll become disappointed when nobody comes around to read it.
So yeah, I'll post it.
Just give a little time.
A speck of hope
Is that what that is?
Are my shackles getting removed?
Can I be free from this prison cell?
Can I spread my ragged wings and fly?
Will the voice stop echoing?
Will the voices be tamed?
What does this mean for us?
Now that I see the key is being turned...
I’m left to wonder:
What lies beyond the door?
A sharp blade cutting into my back
running down slowly and deliberately
blood drips down my body.
Pooling up on the floor, and stinging with pain.
You're trying to make me open up.
Using a knife made of my insecurities.
Ya know...
I'd rather be bleeding out than have given you the satisfaction of "helping me".
You are one of my biggest pains,
and If you think I'll ever talk to you after this...
you'd have to be out of your fucking mind.
Ya know...
I'd rather be eaten by my insecurities than have you know them.
As a slob, I see no reason to pick up my own messes.
I’d rather just sit amounts my problems
allowing them to marinate
in a puddle of negativity and self-hate.
I’m such a pathetic slob.
A mess.
A disgusting freak just
bathing in my own
filth and rubbish.
Decaying along with
my grime and trash.
Stay quiet so he doesn’t know you’re here.
Be quiet so you disappear.
Take light steps.
Don’t step there!
If you stay quiet enough you can hear it all, but only if you dare.
The squeaks,
The whispers,
The words.
Everything will become clear if you just choose to not make a sound.
Pinning my hand against my mouth in a violent last defensive.
I promised I wouldn’t speak again.
If you’re quiet enough you can hear their breathing
If you’re quiet enough you can tell they’re watching.
"it's been a terrible day,"
she said
in a room full of
who don't
to listen.
it's been a terrible day.
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