This is a personal documentation through poetry.
I am learning to look inward now, give myself love when I least want to. I do not live to love others, I live to love myself. I will find and create what is enough for me, and you will learn to let it...
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What I do is never enough. Not even almost. The glass I fill for him, he will knock over. My hands are on these cold bars in front of me, And I cannot escape. Every turn, every step; The fault is mine, and mine alone. Like a bolt drilled into brain I can't dig out with shaking fingers. I have become bitter again, and I have become resentful. The organs in my body fill with tar, I am ready to spill. So is he. What am I to do with myself, if I hate the body I'm in? What am I to do with myself, if I can't make someone understand? What am I to do with myself, if I made the mistake first? I will let him. I will let him do it. I will let him do what he wants; it's what he needs. And I will lay there. I will wrap my arms around him, And I will lay there like the dead woman I am.
