We always talk about
strength,
about pride,
about the hurt others caused;
we are the victims of our world
we look for pity.
for understanding,
we talk about the monsters
we didn’t unleash.

I want to talk about regret,
about the demons I’ve let out;
about the ache I burned in others hearts;
about the monster I’ve been in others
fairy tales.

I want to be raw
and true to myself.
I’ve never been good
or perfect,
or even alright.

My words have been like poison
and they have pounded in others’ hearts.
I have left people
to themselves
when they were at their worst.

I have used my power to hurt;
to insult.

There are people who carry pain
because of me.

And what is worse
is that I have denied forgiveness
to people
for things
I could have done.

I tweak stories
and tell lies
to make an angel
out of me.

I have excused
my actions
to myself,
to be able to close
both my eyes
when I sleep.

Sometimes I wonder
if I’d be
better off
dead.

There is this thing about spiraling;
isn't it beautiful in a way?
I am like a ballerina;
turning and twisting against the same spot;
turning it into poetry.

I sometimes wonder if I could make a poem out of all the metaphors
that have been scrapped because of what surrounded them.
If I could make a clique,
where they’d join strong
and leave their pasts.
Create a new country of love,
for all the unique metaphors
that died because they didn’t know better.

“I want to scream but forgot how to talk”

“The fear I felt drained in my blood
and I now have it tattooed in my tears”

“Opportunities that slip off your fingers
like fish in the depths of a lake”

“my fears were dissolved
into tears”

…

Don’t you ever
eat
out of tradition?
Like,
you are not hungry;
but not loaded either.
Your stomach is just
as numb as your heart.

But you still eat,
because food tastes good;
because they sat you down;
because you ought to;
because you’re used to the feeling.

Even when there is no joy
to the taste;
you eat.

Eat,
eat,
eat.

You did it so often
the action
must have lost all its meaning.

Semantic satiation.

Crying is a way your eyes speak when your mouth can't explain how broken your heart is.