You ask me if I care about you and I pause.
I'm silent for so long that it becomes an answer all on its own.
You ask me if you're worth caring about and still I don't speak.
Even as my insides are screaming, reaching out, holding onto you with everything I have left.
I want to ask you if you care about me too, but I know that reassurances will spill out of you.
As if I am in need of your comfort.
You tell me that I am your safety. That I am a torch in your darkness lighting your way and I want to cry or scream or shake you until you can see me for what I really am.
A stain.
I stay silent because anything I say will keep you here.
I hope that if I'm silent for long enough you'll leave. Not because I don't care. Not because I don't want you here.
But because I am not a good person like you.
All of the pain inside me, all of the grief and the heart ache and the emptiness. It bleeds out of me and into everything that I touch and you are too good to be stained by me.
So I just shouldn't touch.
YOU ARE READING
The diary of Seth Alexander
PoetryI write to cope with life, so maybe this might help someone else cope too, idk. Trigger warning for suicidal ideation, S/A, and Abuse. There's not many mentions of them directly as this is more about my emotions and moments of reflection, all neatl...
