Avoiding eye contact with the stranger in my mirror once again,
Their eyes pierce my skull- I know they're waiting for me to face them.
Maybe tomorrow, but definitely, most certainly not today, not now.
I'm not strong enough yet.
Or am I?
The 82nd MBTI test this week, and still this ghostly hand is filling in all the wrong answers.
A slew of letters, formulated specifically into some costume of who I'm supposed to be.
Who I've been told I am.
"You probably have autism, by the way. And are you sure you're not depressed?"
I love these questions, I hate these questions. I love that my answer is exactly what we both wanted to hear.
I hate that this voice doesn't belong to me, and I don't know who's it is.
I just wait and hope they come back to claim it, and let it stop speaking for me.
People look at me, they ask "who are you when nobody is around to see?"
Is that who I'm supposed to be?
'Cause who I am when no one's around, is the worst version of me.
Thorns and slime and razor blades, you don't even know the half of it.
I was born to be observed. With your every passing glance, I am reborn.
You think, therefore I am. I've never had a thought in my life that someone else didn't proofread first.
You've convinced me I could never be wrong, and then insisted that notion made me wrong.
"This isn't you," you begged to be true.
According to you, who I am is the best attributes of who I could be.
Everything that's wrong, distasteful or unique, you dismiss as an illness. A glitch in the system.
Something for me to overcome. A new task on this never-ending checklist.
This isn't me, because you don't want it to be.
"You're worthy of love though you're flawed," you say to make yourself feel better.
You don't love my flaws. You love the version of me that you hope comes to be. The version without flaws.
That version will never exist, and if he did, he would fucking hate you.
You were too busy playing with settings to see, but my love for you is my biggest flaw of all.
My inability to let go, to be someone who exists without the validation of being seen.
Without you, I don't exist. Without you, the real glitch begins. And reality starts to slip,
Making way for all those things you insisted weren't real, to bubble over and make themselves known.
And you were wrong. They are very real.
Your sense of self relies on your observation too.
I know it because of how you lie through your jagged and bloodstained teeth.
When you tell the people who make you feel real that I was hopeless, that you did all you could.
You're saying those words to yourself too. You're convincing yourself to find joy in this broken state you created for me. How fucking cruel.
Your eyes shine with that reflected light. The one you couldn't make for yourself.
When your backup choir sings in tune with you, and I'm the one with the tritone dissonance heart,
I'll bet you forget everything except that song, the lyrics that say you don't have to change a thing.
The simple melody that makes me your antagonist, gives you a place for that rage to go.
Somehow it's always bound to be me.
And of course, since you think, I am.
I am evil. I am wrong. I should have known better.
Reading between the lines, I found empty space, and you found everything, all at once.
The deepest reaches of my soul are desperate to forget your crooked brand on my heart,
But the rest of me can't forget the feel of your hand on my skin, of your words in my ears.
All of me lies in the depths of your mind.
You make me out to be this way, and it's what I became.
Something primal, unrefined and real. This is me, isn't it? And it's what you feared the most.
You desperately molded me into what you wished from me, and found my edges solidified before you could smooth out the cracks.
Now deep in my flesh, your fingerprints are indented, and I'm just another forgotten vase.
The flowers inside are wilted and rotting as we speak, attracting flies.
Edges sharp enough to cut, and an unflattering shape only fit for impressionist art.
Something you find so easy to forget, to call an unfortunate mistake
My whole world, one little bump in your road.
You don't think, therefore I am not.
Without your input, what's left for me to use as source material?
How do I know which circle that ghostly hand is going to fill in tomorrow?
No blueprint to read, no incentive for grabbing those reins and reaching those goals.
Goals I can't define without you, anyways.
Tomorrow means nothing with no watch to know when today will end.
Walking forward with no map doesn't bring you where you need to go.
I'm aimless, lost without a guide, and I'm on my knees begging for one more hint
One more chance to find who I am in the reflection of your eyes.
Kiss me deep, till I'm drunk and weary.
When I least expect it, slit my throat with your talons and watch the blood deep out
Let your last words, before I fade out, reveal the truth of what you really thought of me,
So I can die with the confirmation that I was a horrible and repulsive excuse for a human being,
Or so I can die with some peace of mind.
