These are confessions I can never send.
Because they blatantly won't understand
and that is something I need to get,
They don't care for me enough to accept the ways they hurt me and say sorry.

They are hypocrites,
Because they want me to stay weary.
They want me to always let go and cry alone.
They don't care if around them I'm woeful.

Mom,
You always said I was in the wrong,
Cleaning and chores were our only "bond"
You never chose me unless you could brag.

Dad,
You broke my heart,
You'd catch me when I'd fall
But never stuck up for me in the end.  

Mom chooses to make me a villain,
All I wanted was her acceptance
but she sees me as a sinner who's selfish,
I should put my pain aside and pretend I'm good.

I will be left to wonder forever,
Why my pain doesn't matter
In comparison to my sister,
Why am I less accepted when I'm in pain?

Dad loves me because he sees himself in me.
I look like him, we share a hobby
but growing up I believed that was the only thing he loved about me
Because one moment he'd be there, but would runaway when I needed him most.

Alone, he would listen,
He would say he'd help me
But in front my mom he was different.
Suddenly, what we said in the car was insignificant.

I'm an adult who doesn't know her needs, wants, and likes
Because I spent my life trying to be accepted.
No one taught me how to accept myself,
Or how to know what I need or want.

If someone cared unconditionally,
I clinged to them.
I hoped they'd never leave,
because I never got that from my family.

Now I'm in therapy, crying in every session
That I'm hurt again because of them,
Or hurt by myself because
I don't know who I am.

I sit and wait for the call to begin
I ponder what I'll say
or if I'll learn anything
While the dread settles in

I don't like myself right now.
I see patterns and look for answers
I'll think I might be getting closer to closure,
but in the end, only  assumptions are found.

"Why do you need to know?" She asks me.
Because I feel like a well.
The Sun appears and I become dried out,
a storm rumbles in and I'm overflowing.

People visit me rarely
each time they do, I become more empty.
They come to me because they get something
They don't stop and sit with me, they want what I function.

Sometimes they paint me,
or add a layer to my shell
They might gift me an accessory
because for them, it will help.

It makes them feel better,
when how I look brings them comfort,
They think everything changed
But I'm still a well they never visit to connect.

I'm a well that sits on a hill,
They think I'm out of reach
but I'm here, left out
Someday I'll be the well that fell.

I don't think we're friends anymore
I'll stop coming around and banging on your door,
It's ******* days where I miss you more
But the thing I can't take is how different we are.

I value consistency in communication
You value space and a lot of distance
Both things are valid and I'm not hurt by that,
But it's hard for me to maintain our connection

Especially when there are contradicting statements.
I know how hard talking can be
But it hurts to be cancelled on so frequently
Especially while feeling full of hope for where our friendship can someday, be

I understand the need for space,
Endless trauma dumping was such a waste.
If there's anything I regret, it's being a pity case
It's a shame I can't go back and still know our history to date

But I guess that's fate,
I can't go back to undo my mistakes.
I can only move forward
And know myself better

When I would ramble to you
I didnt know the power of the letters
I wrote endlessly to you
only wanting to feel better.

I think there was a time when things between us were good
Where we knew eachother and had dreams, as kids should
Somewhere, sometime, some month or week
Things changed between us, something changed in me.

I don't like who I am with you,
but I miss the fun we had and dreams we planned,
Sometimes I wish they'd still come true
But I have a feeling they won't because you don't trust me and I don't trust you.

I awaken mornings feeling upbeat,
Praying my prayers set like concrete.
But No!
This repetitive routine has no soul.

Perhaps I'm praying wrong.
Perhaps He prefers a song,
A Hallelujah chorus
To **** of the Anti-Christ.
(but the Creature lives... it ***** up all our hopes).

I'll pray again tonight:

Now I lay me down to sleep.
And pray that God won't willfully keep
That blakened spot he calls his soul,
Dispatched to Hell for our repose.

If not this week,
Then this year.
If not this year,
Then next year.
              
This year.
                  Next year.
Some year.
                  Not never.

What is time? Space?
Will it matter?

Why do I restart my life once a year?
Restrict myself from growing,
Whenever conflict appears
I'm not passionate about anything
Restarting is easier than keeping on.
Even though I just want to be done
I start over

I arch my shoulders to my cheeks
And press my weight upon my feet
Agress my chest unto my knees
This shape I take; anxiety

I add one word: Let the [orange] blowt king tempt you again...

Do you accept your family?
Despite the things they say to hurt you?
Do you turn the other cheek
Each time they blame and scold you?

Are you okay with no boundaries?
Never hearing a genuine "I'm sorry."
Do you just shrug things off cause,
"Hey, they're your family"

Or do you not accept that?
I've felt so conflicted lately
Because of family with no boundaries
Family that don't accept me, but want acceptance from me.

They always told me to say sorry as a child,
If I hurt someone else, I was wile.
Even as an adult, I'm always wrong
About others, the world and my own mental health.

I have to apologize in the end.
I have to pick up the phone to check in.
I have to put on an ever changing mask to ensure I won't be hurt again-
I try to explain it and once again, I'm a child.

I say "I" too much
I should ignore everything that offends me,
Assume the best of family because they're family.
I'm family but have to change and ignore my feelings for them to accept me.

My family doesn't reach out to me,
All weight is on me to say hi.
If I talk too long, outbursts can occur
Contradictions leave me at a loss for words

They want a relationship with fiction,
An image; or story they see me as.
I used to try to fit the frame they made
But doing that lead me down a bitter path

Now I try to accept the reality,
Who I am inside is not enough for them.
When I'm myself, I recieve lots of judgment
Or comments that I don't understand.

Every time I think I'm done with my walk
I take note of the street signs name.
I'm still not done talking with myself
Because I'm still on the street of Shame.

When I think about why I feel so badly
I can list my ideas for what's wrong with me
but when I reach the the house and open the door,
I remember how unheard I felt in my core.