Sometimes, I feel like
I’m not good enough
For you.

You will use me, cast me aside,
Drown me, and wash me out
Clean me of imperfections.

I cannot breath. It’s unclean,
Murky in this place
You banish me to.

*****, Misty, Icky, Dark.

You go to my friends. They are different.
Older or Younger, Skinny or Thick.
Am I not good enough?

After a while, you’ll pick me up-
Dry me off and glance at
Me.

Narrowed, exact, trimming, forgetting.

You then decide you’re right.
I can feel the feeling uzzing through me.

Your strength.

Next you glide me away, using
Me. Even more than before.
You let your true being show. Ugly.

Hitting, dabbing, thrashing, scribbling.

When you finish, I’m nothing more.
I’m drowned once again,
Right back to where I was.

I’m cast away, waiting for you.
You got a new one you like better.
But I’m still waiting.
Waiting for you to use me once more.

Used, drown, unwarned, unneeded.

by you.

Ideas scattered and misunderstood
suffocate my mind
with no answers nor key
lost with no direction
scared with no ending
mind over matter takes over.

I've come to hate who I am
because it's not who I wish to be
or who I could be
if I tried

there's so much I want to do
and could do
but I can't
and I won't
because I'm me

I set up all these boundaries for myself
based on nothing other than my discomfort
and my distaste
for change

I know I could be so much more
but being this person
who doesn't ever try
is easy

It's the best place to cry.
It's the place where it all surrounds you,
Covering you, engulfing you, drowning you.
It falls over you like every pound of weight placed on your shoulders,
It falls and runs over your barren, exposed, vulnerable body,
And when it hits the floor -- its gone, washed down the drain,
But it's replaced by another, and another, and another,
Never ceasing, never pausing, never calming.
It beats at your back, your face, you chest,
Until your skin in red, sore, raw.
It's the place where you don't feel tears,
It's impossible to tell if they're yours, or the water falling on you.
It's the best place to cry,
The shower.

It's a good place to cry,
It's a mask that protects you,
Covering you, surrounding you, isolating you,
It hides every acid drop that rips away at your eyes and cheeks,
It conceals you from others, banishes their comfort,
It makes you alone, weak, vulnerable
They can't see you, they won't know these feelings, they don't care.
They can't see through their ignorance, so I've used it to protect myself.
It's a mask that leaves everyone none the wiser,
All you have to do is wipe the stray tears away.
It's a good place to cry,
Sunglasses.

It's an unexpected place to cry.
It's a scary place, because everyone can see you.
And the scary part is, they do nothing but watch.
The ignorance of the mask is taken away, replaced with clarity.
They can see tears, but they will choose not to acknowledge them.
Light reflects from it, hiding some features, but the picture is still there,
Staring them in the face.
They can see the redness, watch the tears as they gather and charge your dry cheeks.
They watch, but pretend they didn't see anything because they have chosen
not
to
deal
with
it.
It's an unexpected place to cry,
Glasses.












I'm sorry.
I shall take my pain somewhere else,
Take my suffering to the farthest depths of my heart,
in hopes it will not destroy my soul.
I will feed your ignorance,
your picture of a blemishless world,
And pretend I'm a perfect person, in your perfect world.
I will suppress each tear, choke down each sob, and straggle each tremor,
I'm exhausted, but I must keep running
Running away from your misguided decisions, your accusations, your falsifications.
They are like hot iron, branded into my skin like livestock.
So,
I'm sorry,
I will destroy myself to spare your ignorance.