Here I am
Torn between the selfishness of my sadness
and of the self inflicted secrets that go with it.
Why do you care?
I want to ask you in a spiteful tone
I imagine it whispered- cruelly, coldly
but I know that in reality I scream it.
Pushing you away with a physical
Shove coupled with an ear shattering scream.
I hurt myself,
Leaving me with these shiny scars.
It is my body.
Why do you care? .
What gives you the right to worry?
It is me
That I am hurting
Not you
So leave me be.
But it does hurt you too,
I know.
My sadness kills me slowly
While it eats away at your happiness.
An erroneous erosion.
You have no right
To love me.
I myself cannot even fathom how it is done. But then again I comprehend the illusion. You do not see me
At my worst.
And isn't that the worst of all,
Because you think you have.
It was quite a sight
And quite a fright.
But trust me Love,
I can get much worse.
It is immensely difficult
To continuously tear your body apart for years and then force yourself to want to be whole.
My scars are the seams
Where I am sewn together.
Broken and marred skin wrapped around bones
With rushing blood between them.
A body empty of everything except sadness.
