Poetry from a damaged soul

Scream

I hate every inch of myself.
How dependant I can be.
That I have no energy.
I can't think straight, talk straight.
I can't do anything on my own because I am weak.
Worthless.
Pitiful and far beyond under perfect.
I don't have anything special.
All I really know how to do is exist and mess everything up.
Memorization isn't a skill I have
Socialization?
Nope not that either.
In fact I've forgotten how to make friends or even seem approachable.
My face has gone
flat
Dull
My psychiatrist even noticed.
But that's all she knows.
She doesn't know I lie to her.
"I've stopped"
"I realized I was being stupid"
LIES! LIES! LIES!
I have created the perfect mask.
I know what to say.
How to smile
How to nod and confess
Fake sins.
"I nearly relapsed"
"I scraped myself with a paper clip"
MORE LIES!!
She has a bachelors degree in
A few things.
But not all.
Certainly not with me.
But that's not her fault.
My mask is fucking made of
Diamond.
Perfected.
Polished.
Invincible.
Even to myself I can lie.
That I'm okay.
That it's all fine.
I've played the charade so well
Even I believe it.
And sometimes in the moments of no control at all, in the moments that all I feel is insanity it makes me want to
Scream.