Stop.
Stop.
Jealousy stop.
You are a part of me.
A slice of my life.
Yet at the same time,
You are me.
I am you.
But...
How do I get you out?
Isn't it enough?!
Did you enjoy?
Seeing me writhe in bed?
Crying myself to sleep?
Drowning against the sea of insecurities,
And discontent that swim within me?
Were you impressed?
When you felt me die a little everyday?
All that rage,
Pain,
Regret,
Depression,
Anxiety,
Paranoia,
Boiling inside me,
Ready to erupt,
Ready to blow.
...
Yet,
I still got to smile about it,
To put on that mask I made myself,
To laugh about it,
To joke around it,
To act like I felt nothing close to sadness.
Like...
I wasn't just thinking about starving myself to death a while ago.
Did you laugh?
When you tasted the same bitter blood on my tongue,
When I bit it unconsciously,
While I stared at the person who achieved the things,
That I should've gotten for myself,
If I hadn't held back,
If I had just let myself go,
If I had just crossed the line,
If I had just stood up for myself,
If I had just fought for what I wanted.
But then . . .
I fed you.
I took care of you.
My body was the perfect environment for your growth.
Not too hopeful.
Not too optimistic.
Not too bold.
Just a little of everything mixed with a pint of negativity.
And a dash of salt and pepper for taste.
Huh.
No wonder you won't leave.
YOU ARE READING
Retrospect
RandomA compilation of lines that just sprout in my head. . . Shows the poet side of me that is often in a state of emotional instability. . .
