It’s strange, isn’t it?
We surround ourselves with those like us.
It’s strange
how we struggle amongst ourselves.
We hurt ourselves and hate ourselves
But how is it that we can be like this?
When the others do this we say it’s wrong
and they shouldn’t
but when we do it
it’s fine, and even right
It’s strange, isn’t it?

I am from who I used to be
happy
oblivious
content to play pretend with friends
Walking through the light
smiling,without reason

I am from the darkness,
that came when I found myself
Fluffy purple blankets can only muffle the sound of tears
not shelter from the dark, and dysphoria

I am from the music I listen to when I cry
loud, too loud
The computer makes buzzing, growling noises
unable to comprehend the noise

I am from the dark that I can no longer turn away from.
It is everywhere.

I am from the change
from long hair to short and in between
from loving pretend to hating it
from travel, back home

I am from the twisted mirror image,
it’s all but the same
distorted, past chasing,
impossible question asking,
hoping for light but finding dark,
searching
for what could have been
and what should have been
It sifts through the twisted sand
and shows me all that I’d hate to be.

There's a spider on my rocking chair
how long has it been since I sat there
that a spider now lives there?

cats are distracting** *please ignore them

whoops, a mistake
oh well
welcome to the human race

They tell me
choose, choose, choose
and I hide, because I'll
loose, loose, loose
if I
choose, choose, choose
I always do.

Life's not laundry.
Don't separate
The colours
From the whites.