I think I might be drowning?
Drowning?
Frowning and crowning myself a queen, because that's what I'm told I am.
I am by all intents and purposes; human in the flesh.
I've seen love and labour lost too many times,
I've seen cost and favour tossed to one side.
I'm a lean, mean regurgitating machine.
I give out party favours like I'm frightened to bite the hand that feeds.
I'm a photocopy of my own originality,
With the PERSONALITY of tracing paper.
I look in the mirror and marvel at myself growing thicker,
My imagination getting thinner,
My appreciation depreciating at the very thought of my dinner.
What can I eat but calories on a stick?
Thick,
                         thick...
                                          thick.
Each mouthful a new trick conjured by someone trying to tease me, Ease me into a wobbling lump,
A frump,
A place where they can dump their new ideas and findings,
Their light bulb moments so blinding they lead people like me to their deaths.
Because what do I need but another mouth to feed?
The mouth in my brain that's desperate for instruction,
Construction,
DESTRUCTION of its cells.
Each thought more macabre than the last as I dissect the absolute FARCE that has become my identity.
I am by all intents and purposes human in the flesh.
A sack full of bones and DNA,
Of which, so they say, differ from body to body.
And yet I'm a clone of everyone I've known because everyone's left Their imprint on me.
I may not have wanted it but I had no choice,
No voice,
No ability to say no.
Because I couldn't find the right words to dictate what I wanted to say.
My tongue wouldn't move in an articulate way,
So I forgot how to speak.
And now I find myself silenced; a mute of imagination,
A lack of creation,
Practically a crustacean- I'm a mere shell of what I once was.
Which brings me back to drowning.
Drowning?
In waters so harsh but land is so sparse how do I get back?
Because creativity is the building blocks of humanity without we are Lost out to sea.

I remember being sixteen and being in love.
My heart raced at the mere anticipation of him.
I  honestly believed that he was perfect.
But he never truly loved me for me; not in retrospect.

After that I went searching for a new love.
One that would love me for who I am.
I searched for years but I didn’t find it.
Just constant disappointments and an inability to commit.

Then I decided I would love no more.
I’d never give myself over again unless it was inescapable.
I promised myself, my mother and all my friends.
But a matter of months later I fell in love all over again.

I couldn’t fathom my own weakness- it felt like giving in.
Until I realised the love I’d found had to be real;
Because, yes he loved me true,
But most importantly; he helped me love my own skin too.

I don't know what it is about you that makes me blush.
A colour of crimson so full of passion,
A prickling heat wave that submerges me.

I don't know why when I think of you my heart starts to rush.
A humming cricket's symphony becomes  a wild cacophony,
A tambourine drumming to an eternal beat.

I don't know what it is about you that scares me the most.
The fact that I love you already.
Or the fact that it shows.

I'm spontaneously combusting,
It ends before it starts.
I've a fear of being too trusting,
I tip toe over hearts.
I can't take a compliment,
That much is true.
It's formed from lack of confidence,
And one encounter with you.
You told me I was beautiful,
Admittedly I'd heard it before.
You made me feel invincible,
I sailed through life with you as my oar.
It was as if you used a defibrillator,
And shocked my heart into loving.
But everyday I needed a pacemaker,
To remind me you weren't bluffing.
But nothing hit me more,
Than the slamming of the door,
When you told me I was flawed,
And I dissolved into the floor.
You made me feel invincible,
It was beautiful at the start,
But eventually I became invisible,
When you chose another heart.

You weren't there when I needed you the most.
You who seemed to understand me the best.
You who matched the heart in my chest.

You weren't there when I needed you the most.

On the days that I felt like I couldn't breathe.
On the days that I cried myself to sleep.

You weren't there for me when I needed you the most.

Because you died.
And I'm sorry I was mad.

It's an infectious intimacy only you can provide.
It's a wondrous worry- constantly on my mind.
I've a fickle fear I can't get rid of,
A taunting temper that I brandish on my skin.
A wilting wound born out of a sin.

Its a vexatious vase of hope that I repair,
Picking pieces of ceramic out of the air,
I crassly clutch at the glue,
Sparingly spreading it over every space.
Filling the cracks with pictures of your face.