Through the foggy grey's,
Of freshly instilled,
Yet old insecurities,
I stay the course.

Whispers of doubt,
Deafen all other audio,
As it lingers amongst,
Every concious thought.

Uncertainty is permanent,
Placed by your words,
Only to be removed,
When actions of truth prevail.

Although reunited,
Segregation is prominent,
My heart aches knowing,
You denied me security.

Once again, I find myself here,
hating the reflection in the mirror.

It brings tears to my eyes,
gazing upon my tiny size.

I once had some weight,
and it made me feel great.

Now, I am skin and bones,
riddled with different tones.

It saddens my soul,
that I can't feel whole.

I am ashamed, of what I see,
I wish that it wasn't me.

I want this cycle to end,
I want to break the trend.

How do I accept who I am,
this person they call Jam.

I look, but I don't see...
I don't see my reflection.
A stranger stands before me,
staring back deeply into my eyes.

I only see a woman...
a woman who isn't me.
Her skin is so tight to her face,
she is tiny like a child.

Lines are imprinted,
around her dry lips.
Dark circles encompass,
each end of her eyes.

Her cheekbones protrude-
the light hangs on the edge.
Her smile is weak and faded;
who is this person I see?

I don't want to look,
she saddens my heart.
I don't want to see reality,
staring into the mirror.

As young children,
we most desired toys.
How precious they were,
on every occasion that gave.

We cherished our toys,
for the joy they brought.
Showing them off to others,
so proud of what we had.

But, eventually...
we grew tired of them.
Sometimes quickly,
they became worn and old.

Our interest elsewhere..
all the new toys out there.
Nobody wants used toys,
they're no good anymore.

It has to be shiny and better,
that's much more exciting.
So we discard our old toys,
after we've played them out.

She is obsessed with toys,
and I am her doll...
but now I am old and worn,
and playtime is over.

Cogitating our path,
the many possibilities,
what has been, and yet to be.

Deliberating the actions,
or words that were spoken,
which have set me free.

Eluding the dramatics,
my conscious is aware,
of all that I am, or do.

Analyzing behaviours,
weighed without bias,
seeking what is true.

Discovering that lines,
may be deceiving,
questioning the certain.

Enlightening experiences,
much remains unknown,
hidden behind the curtain.

Where do I go from here?

Here. Where is here? Where have I ended up?
At what point do I end?

Have I completed my journey? Please say I have.
Tell me that my sentence is over.
My time is done.

Tell me that I will not bear this pain -
That I will not have to feel,
the magnitude of these emotions,
for another second longer.

Please tell me that my suffering will end…
that if my journey is not over,
I will soon find peace within.
That these feelings won’t last.

I need to know that one day,
the tiredness will disappear…

I won’t be tired…of waking up,
to face another day of struggle.
I won’t be tired…of looking at myself,
noticing every flaw that exists.
I won’t be tired…of hating who I am,
never reaching my better self.
I won’t be tired…of worrying,
about how others are judging me.
I won’t be tired…of failing,
only accomplishing the next day.
I won’t be tired…of being hurt,
when I open my heart to others.
I won’t be tired…of hurting,
the people I love the most.
I won’t be tired…of disappointment,
it’s in every face that I see.
I won’t be tired…of surviving,
taking it one day at a time.
I won’t be tired…of living,
holding onto the hope of death.

I am tired of fighting,
and my strength is worn.

Where do I go from here?