Where everything is fake From the flowers To her lips
So get comfy this is our routine everyday
But not too comfortable If you do we will tear you apart Layer after layer And don’t expect anyone to hear your prayer
Along with that we provide our services With deconstructive criticism Upgrade to our premium Where there are many helpful tips To learn to love your body But thats only once you've met our standards And we see you paper thin
It can be slightly difficult Living in this new world With our expertise and precision It isn’t meant for everyone But since you've gotten here already There is no exit out So this is your new life Until your very last day When we finally realize what living is really about
Thanks for choosing to join society Where its an artificial place to stay Put on the fake smile you’ve mastered And have a great day
Surface tension Tender Snips away at the inner bruising Behind the eyes the windows are shut And the curtains drawn Run fingers over hidden ribs in the early morning Witching hours When fairy dust can decorate the pores For imaginations sake
Morning skinny is now a norm I plaster the walls of my subconscious With posters of picture perfect shells
What they want What you want What I have convinced myself I think you want What I want
What we want
I want to stop I have told tall tales as unstable as my legs Written them in invisible ink Doused with sour lemon stings So only I can see them They appear before I eat And in the quakes of my stomach aches
I know it is there to protect me The most important parts of my body The bubble which constantly pokes at me to ask “what if there was nothing more than me What if we couldn’t see Shapes or sizes or colours or better What if we couldn’t see pretty
Add that: in all of my pointless comparisons, I am self conscious of all the ways I am similar to everyone else, unoriginal and ununique. To summarize: I am lame. For who cares whether or not others notice these things? They are figments, merely. But- I am aware of my primary, incessant concern- myself. I notice, naturally, with no sense. It is totally normal for me to engage in this self conscious nonsense, without end. I desire to be a robot, lifeless, but what good would awareness do then? Self conscious about a few loose bolts, the whole circuit would short, and that'd be the end of me. It is the schism. It is the juxtaposition between caring about myself and about others, of everything and nothing, and I cannot find the balance. I am a teetering pile of flesh pancakes. **** lame.
Maybe I should stop eating, Say that I'm not hungry Maybe I should fly to New Zealand, Say that I couldn't afford a ticket back Maybe I should cut carrots, Say that I was hungry Maybe I should take the bus, Say that I wasn't fresh
Maybe I should trip over a knife, Say nothing - Freja Jep
I like to play diplomat; it's hard to say no Never the one who decides where we go Affixed in place by the roots in the past I hide behind everyone and choose to be last So I also play victim more than I care to admit Enough is enough, I've decided, that's it I've wasted too much time on worry and fear I think it's time to show the world that I'm here
i don’t want a title i don’t know if i ever wanted anything i don’t think i ever thought that i’m enough i don’t really ever feel a thing
and i hate to repeat “i’m not good enough” ‘cause everyone’s thinking of something else and they think that i say “i’m not good enough for someone” but i actually mean that i’m not even enough for myself.
and the fact that i learned today is that i don’t need to be enough for me because i know i never will and i just have to accept that.
i'm not all that great at opening up with written words its not that it's still closed, kept in the expression of art but when it comes time to speak of the real feelings i shiver and shudder at the thought of my sensitivity.
i'm not good at opening up because telling someone you care makes you weak its a strong thing to say, but an easy thing to exploit and meaning it mean that you can be hurt and i've never said something i didn't mean.
so i'm terrible at opening up because this loving heart is powerful and i'd hold you to me, listening and keeping you safe i'd leave myself open, to make you feel comfortable never seeing the knife sneaking to my heart
i'm awful at opening up i'm selfish with this compassion i'm unable to brave the pain because if i wasn't who's to help me when my heart is in pieces?
Another piece in the same vein as the previous, but something that has plagued me for quite a long time. It's a feeling that I've yet to shake.