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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Dear Universe, I have become a failed lover. To oneself, to others, to you. My body has grown heavy with black mold, Undying, an ever lasting malignity. No one has ever cared for these words I leak, But it will not stop me; I will still pour from an empty cup. Nothing has blinded me more than myself, Intentionally staring into an open sun— I give myself all solutions, I just have to create the problem. Is it not pitiful? Is it not hard to watch as I do this to myself? Yet I would never let anyone else do it for me. I will cut my own hair, I will starve my own body, I will break my own heart, I will bury my own grave, And throw myself down first. The bones in me will break happily At my own hand. Unmark me, I beg, from the dirt beneath my back. If this is punishment for everything I have done, This is punishment enough. I live with this curse, and I will die with it too. The clothes and shoes have grown to fit me right, Worn by the foolish one before my young age. It will stick to my flesh when I lie down and rot, The earth and its insects consuming me, And then finally, you can have me back. I will come home, after this bender, Leaking shame, crying blood, Clawing and biting, begging, barely breathing. I have failed in love and life. I am handcuffed and blinded. And the only release is beneath your dirt. Lest you grant me one more chance, I will make something of myself. A being proud to feel their lungs inflate, Proud to feel the pain in the soles of their feet, Proud to have hands that leave claw marks, Proud to love. I beg, Once more, One chance. I will listen for your whisper, And I will do it right this time.
