I am ****** to repel my lovers.
I am ****** to love more than the other.
I love too **** hard. I give too much of myself.
I splatter myself on walls and my excess dribbles though the cracks
and spills over great spaces.
I don’t know what it is to be subtle or gentle.
All this hurt that I’ve known to be a constant truth
has made me timid and infantile in nature.
I’m impulsive and thoughtless…and shaken.
I love too **** hard. My hands are covered in grime from the guts of all the beautiful butterflies that I have crushed in my life.
I cannot wash the guilt from my encrusted fingers.
I’m trembling. I beg, I plea for the butterflies to perch here.
Even though I know I am not a safe place to stay…
Time and time again I can hear my beloved ones crunch in my grasp
I wince with guilt and do it once more.
Yet still I try. Yet I still think I can make myself better.
Who am I to believe such lies?
Who am I to drag someone into this sick, selfish, and perverse mess?
Who am I?
Did I ever have fingers in the first place? Perhaps they were claws.
Maybe I’ve been a malicious spider from the start.
Born from hatred and ****** to give into hunger.
I’ve been fooling these poor creatures that I can be something else.
It is now beyond question what I am.
I am rotten at my core.
Let justice be served for those who have been burned.
I am rotting.
Let the insects take me over.
Let them exact their revenge on my corpse.
I had it coming all along.
Sep 10, 2014
Sep 10, 2014 at 10:04 PM UTC
I am ****** to repel my lovers.
I am ****** to love more than the other.
I love too **** hard. I give too much of myself.
I splatter myself on walls and my excess dribbles though the cracks
and spills over great spaces.
I don’t know what it is to be subtle or gentle.
All this hurt that I’ve known to be a constant truth
has made me timid and infantile in nature.
I’m impulsive and thoughtless…and shaken.
I love too **** hard. My hands are covered in grime from the guts of all the beautiful butterflies that I have crushed in my life.
I cannot wash the guilt from my encrusted fingers.
I’m trembling. I beg, I plea for the butterflies to perch here.
Even though I know I am not a safe place to stay…
Time and time again I can hear my beloved ones crunch in my grasp
I wince with guilt and do it once more.
Yet still I try. Yet I still think I can make myself better.
Who am I to believe such lies?
Who am I to drag someone into this sick, selfish, and perverse mess?
Who am I?
Did I ever have fingers in the first place? Perhaps they were claws.
Maybe I’ve been a malicious spider from the start.
Born from hatred and ****** to give into hunger.
I’ve been fooling these poor creatures that I can be something else.
It is now beyond question what I am.
I am rotten at my core.
Let justice be served for those who have been burned.
I am rotting.
Let the insects take me over.
Let them exact their revenge on my corpse.
I had it coming all along.
Another thing of writing from a year ago. This is me struggling on how to love myself and not be a burden to my loved ones. My struggle to not suffocate them with what I thought was love, but was actually desperation. I think part of this lends itself to my past experiences of being abused by my own mother, and not knowing how to love someone else. I was drowning and I felt like I could not be "fixed". I feared following in her abusive footsteps.
ALSO: I actually really like this one a lot, even though it still hurts me to read. I am better now though. :) Always working towards recovery and self improvement.
