around my neck a barbed wire,
hugging it the same way
i wanted to be hugged.
words get stuck in my throat.
my neck is a machine,
words are a cog,
sometimes i wish the words
never came out at all,
just leave them in,
make me choke
on all the reasons,
i don't feel heard.
instead of the words
coming out of my mouth,
they overflow into tears,
staining my face,
and the under of my eyes
becomes darker
with each night passing.
i can't help,
but spiral into depression
every moment i stay awake.
"the first two came out fine -
so why couldn't you?"
i don't know, mom.
maybe, because i always felt unheard.
maybe, because my heart was pounding,
but it felt dead.
maybe, because you made me believe that i'm useless if unloved.
maybe, because you danced around
my problems as if they were the plague.
maybe, because i could never really fit in.
maybe, because you make me
dance around glass shards
everyday i come home.
maybe, because father
wasn't all that sober.
maybe, because you always made me feel wrong for speaking out.
maybe, because every single fucking attempt at talking to you about my feelings ends with you saying "oh, so i'm a bad mother?"
maybe, because you made me feel like my problems were just small things,
and yet yours were worse than anyone elses.
maybe, because you never took the time to understand me.
maybe, because every single day that felt better, you managed to make it worse again.
maybe, because in the end,
you just see me as a mistake,
as a cog in the machine.
a mistake, right, mum?
you carved that word into my mind,
with how many times you said it.
i hate you, [redacted]
maybe, because the day
i felt like unaliving myself,
you said "you don't have the courage", and that messed me up so much more.
