I was trying to shoot for the stars and
dream the way I did when I learned that caterpillars
grow up to be butterflies
I wanted to be a butterfly
I wanted to be beautiful, and proud, and I wanted to fly -
I miss that feeling.
Somewhere between there and here there were
tragedies and broken hearts and
things that I later realized ought have
been different -
Somewhere between then and now there might have been a god,
but more importantly there was some force causing the world to
punch me in the face
and Somewhere along the road I decided to keep
my shameful face pressed against the concrete

This is anger - this is shame -
this is hate. This is what I
bottle up and beat myself with under the midnight sun,
with the endless exposure, the loss of composure,
the fear, the constant
fear
of judgment - stare at me but don't look at my eyes
(I'm used to it.)
Look past me.
It will only drive the hurt deeper down, tightening my chains it's
not you, it's me. It's me against myself.

Pound, pound, pound the pavement against my feet -
can I run myself into oblivion? Can I please just close
my eyes and become part of the air around me?

the frustration kills me
I **** my voice yelling at myself
WRITE WRITE WRITE
write yourself into this feeling, if
it's the only way you know how to inhabit the present moment
**** yourself with caffeine and hate
and shame
I'm so tired of shame
I'm so tired from the weight of it
I'm so done with being hated but I
can't stop hating myself

I once dreamed of being a butterfly,
and now I dream of getting by
without hurting myself too badly