I am scarred.
Can you see?

I am weeping.
Can you hear?

I am hurting
Can you feel it?

I am sorry
Can you forgive me?

I am not
okay
Can you tell?


I am
                   dying
Can you help me?

I am asking nicely
Please?

i never seem
to be able to

to be able to
be
accepted

to be able to
belong

but
fitting in
is

different than
belonging


molding yourself
Into the
neatly
labelled
boxes
life sets out for us

to fit in


becoming what people want from you

hiding your
true self.
hiding behind a mask

hiding yourself

fitting in.

a rose garden
filled with beautiful flowers
on the surface
but inside is a tangled web of thorns
every petal another lie, another
"i'm fine, i'm ok"

topiaries in twisting, beautiful shapes
all of roses
lovely on the surface
a fairy tale come true
but that's just what it is

a story

but when the flowers wilt,
when the topiaries grow wild,
the thorns grow larger until they start to stab themselves
millions of tiny punctures
as the music plays
and the petals fall
and the thorns strike the heart
and the vines grow over the corpse

What if?
What if
I told someone?
What if
they hate me for it?
What if
What if
I stop doing this to my body?
What if
you stop liking me?
What if
I stop and you leave me?
What if
What if
you hate me if you know?
What if
I didn’t tell anyone?
What if
then nothing changes?
What if
if I tell you?
What if
you worry?
What if
you think I’m a burden
What if
What if
What if
What if
What if
What if
What if  
I

stop


and



you




leave





me?

is it curious that we spare our souls
through poetry,
but remain a closed book to our "family"?