A river runs red
From my knuckles into the sink.
As I stand there,
Hands dripping.
Washing the evidence of loving you,
Scrubbing the remembrance of the flesh.
Draining into pipes are memories of bodies together,
And mouths full of lies.

Insecurity is a fast acting disease.
Pouring into every cell,
thickening the lens,
distorting view.
Erupt in jealousy,
tension fills the chest, breathing deep feels sharp.

Pick at their flaws,
make them feel small, tempt them to inch down to your level.
Do what you can, in every desperate attempt,
But the self disgust still radiates off your skin.

The unjustified hatred will
consume you,
convince you,
that you truly are the victim.

But it is merely a sickness that will eat you away.

1800, 1200, 500,
nothing.

When will I look myself in the mirror
and say, "you are beautiful"

When will I see me
and not cringe in disgust.

When will I feel good
in my own skin?

When will this end?

Always wait 'till it's gone
Always blind even when taught
Always deaf even when sought

Only looking back at what was
Only pilling bricks on my walls
Only gulping bile in my rue

Coulda had, coulda got
Coulda grabbed, coulda talked
Coulda laughed, coulda loved

Emptied comforts, emptied joys
Emptied rooms, emptied possibilities
Emptied mind, numb false serenity

Only broke up by
Intense flashes of
Sanity.
Disgust.

I pen a poem
about
a beautiful
flower,
and think that maybe
it is about a woman instead.

in disgust,
i throw it away.

not that i hate her,
the contrary,
but to me,
it seems,
a flower cannot be a flower
and a woman
cannot be a woman.

I’m wearing a smile,
but the smile’s a lie.
I’m holding back tears,
but my eyes remain dry.

They say the way to the soul,
is seen through the eyes,
but if that is the truth,
then you can see my soul’s died.

I’m emotionally weak,
but too stubborn to break.
I scream at myself,
for being so ******* fake.

No one would know,
how broken I am.
Lying is my art form,
and self hatred’s my jam.

How can you love yourself,
when you hate who you are?
Hiding behind falseness,
like skin behind scars.

Maybe one day,
this disguise will explode.
Then you’ll see the real me,
and my world will implode.

Till then it’s my secret,
between me and myself.
So just look at my smile,
and ignore everything else.