i. i have such anger inside me,
it's slowly but surely crept up on me from the day i was born. it's made a home in my bones, cracked open my skull and filled it with the horrors of a broken perception of the world.
ii. i have such hatred inside me,
once towards myself, twice towards my mother. three times towards what she's turned me into. i am trying so hard not to fall into this abyss of rage, of toxicity, that seems to greet me every time i look into the mirror and see her reflection instead of mine. i've broken the glass twice this week already.
iii. i wish i could control it.
i wish it had some kind of off-switch, so i wouldn't be forced to walk around with bleeding knuckles all the time. i know violence isn't an answer to any problem, but it sure as hell feels like it when i can only see red and the wall is right there.
iv. it's always there,
at the back of my mind. in the cigarette smoke swirling around me, burning my eyelids as i try to keep it all in. it's brought me to tears more times than i can count, and i just want it --- i need it to stop.
v. i am afraid one day i won't want it to stop anymore.
i am afraid one day i will let it consume me, change me, shape me into the monsters from my nightmares, from under my bed. i am afraid one day it will steal my voice and make me do things that the real me would never even think of doing. and when that day comes, i will not fear nor grieve anymore. i will just be angry. i will just be violent. i will just be scary.
vi. i will be a result.
of the hatred and anger and wrath nested deep inside my heart, i will be the darkest, worst version of myself, and i will not care. i will be a result of all the times she's raised a hand to hit me, i will be a result of all the times i have wanted to bash her face in but never could, never did --- because i was too innocent. i will be a result, and i will have blood on my hands.
Nov 15, 2015
Nov 15, 2015 at 11:45 AM UTC
i. i have such anger inside me,
it's slowly but surely crept up on me from the day i was born. it's made a home in my bones, cracked open my skull and filled it with the horrors of a broken perception of the world.
ii. i have such hatred inside me,
once towards myself, twice towards my mother. three times towards what she's turned me into. i am trying so hard not to fall into this abyss of rage, of toxicity, that seems to greet me every time i look into the mirror and see her reflection instead of mine. i've broken the glass twice this week already.
iii. i wish i could control it.
i wish it had some kind of off-switch, so i wouldn't be forced to walk around with bleeding knuckles all the time. i know violence isn't an answer to any problem, but it sure as hell feels like it when i can only see red and the wall is right there.
iv. it's always there,
at the back of my mind. in the cigarette smoke swirling around me, burning my eyelids as i try to keep it all in. it's brought me to tears more times than i can count, and i just want it --- i need it to stop.
v. i am afraid one day i won't want it to stop anymore.
i am afraid one day i will let it consume me, change me, shape me into the monsters from my nightmares, from under my bed. i am afraid one day it will steal my voice and make me do things that the real me would never even think of doing. and when that day comes, i will not fear nor grieve anymore. i will just be angry. i will just be violent. i will just be scary.
vi. i will be a result.
of the hatred and anger and wrath nested deep inside my heart, i will be the darkest, worst version of myself, and i will not care. i will be a result of all the times she's raised a hand to hit me, i will be a result of all the times i have wanted to bash her face in but never could, never did --- because i was too innocent. i will be a result, and i will have blood on my hands.
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