Trigger Warning: ED!
It's a cruel trap, there is no other way to rationalise.
The thoughts of eternal sorrow shove through every single ounce of positivity like there are no other priorities. Everything goes back to the constant problems entangled with insecurities, self esteem lower than the calories. It keeps racing through, pacing back, wondering whether there is one that truly appreciates this personality I keep away, the personality I get scared to show because I think it wouldn't be treated right.
There aren't words to explain the sophistries I see when I look in a mirror, it would be miraculous to not burst into tears. I can't see the innocent girl who was passionate about becoming successful, the girl who wasn't scared about being slightly enthusiastic, the girl who knew who she was.
She passed away because of society, yet mourn that girl, I beg that she comes back. I know she never will, she is gone beyond the grave, nothing can cure her. I can try to rearrange the broken parts to seem prettier, but I will never come close to being who I want. A stained image, eternalised dislike, sins cover this body. Responsibility throws this innocent body into another pool, and I drown once again, trying to escape the pain. Never will I be seven again, never will I trust a soul the way I thought was possible at a tender age. I am not pretty when I cry, but I sure as hell have soaked the page in the salty solution that I call a coping strategy.
The melodies play in my mind, but none will ever play that beautiful tune again now that the record player is broken. The scratching noises, melancholia, and slip into a coma again. I feel that screaming is pointless, as to all that I claimed as close ones, was ever of the treasure? That I think of as treasure, could be the oyster without its pearl. I tarnish the calm, I was a problem, one that people wish would never return.
Little do they know that I never returned the same, my soul is crushed, I am the soot on your candle. I make your light dim, so you wait till someone can wipe me away because you'll never see me again. What was I to you but the petals beside the path? Your blindness to beauty has led this girl to think she is no longer of beauty, and is worthy of neglect. You've broken her, she isn't as content can be, because she's been picked apart and ignored to the point that appreciation seems like it has other priorities. Personal casuistry is not enough. There is no recreation without a pure soul, but she sees no pureness in sight.
It's your cruel trap, society. This terrible creation is yours.
© Sincerely, ♡ - November 2022
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My Guts Create A Tapestry - Poetry
PoetryThis poetry is strictly copyright, it's all written by me. These poems tend to be written sweetly so you could be reading the most gorey poem and it'd be like it's romantacised. I don't try to romantacise them, it's the way I write. You'll possibly...
