Poetry Puzzle Pieces

I am not okay.

The loudest noises are heard when it is silent 

the constant ever-dripping of the sink tap might as well be the drop of the biggest bomb 

my clothes, they lay scattered across my floor- 

not as a sign of laziness- 

But as a congratulations for actually getting up and putting them on. 

My words sit silent on the edge of my tongue 

These are the words I want to speak but caring ears would never find. 

I am not misunderstood, nor do I pretend to be- 

But some times I have to question my sanity 

Sometimes I have to question what is right and wrong for me. 

My 'best friend' - She's a bitch. I'm just starting to live with it. 

I feel like my friends carry extra knives in their pockets just to stab me in the back 

The sick part is I'm okay with that. 

I am okay with being a bullet board for other peoples emotional firing ranges 

I am okay with being pushed and shoved and kicked and broken until I can't breathe 

because I know tomorrow is another day. 

Sometimes I think things that I really don't want to. 

And by 'don't want to' - I mean society says I shouldn't; 

But I don't want to conform to that idolised, idealistic bullshit. 

I refuse to stand around in pools of online hate 

feed little girls with big dreams and  bulimic thoughts. 

Sometimes I find it hard to wake up in the morning. 

This isn't your usual 'hit snooze' kinda trouble 

I yearn for it to be as easy as 'five more minutes' 

instead I constantly have a weight on my chest and no matter how fucking hard I try I am still repressed 

 Then I'll sit up in cold sweat like I've just had a nightmare 

The nightmare is the day ahead. 

The day ahead is bipolar. He changes his mood as I put on my T-shirt and skirt 

and tells me I look like shit every single time I think I look kind of pretty. 

He sometimes takes form in my friends 

In their eyes I can read what they really mean when they tell me I look nice 

But few things are rarely, truly nice. I accept freely that I am not one of them 

Nor do I try to be. 

I claw at the bars on my parrot cage with an itch to spread my wings 

an itch to be free and strong and be in control 

but then the moment passes

my confining cage becomes the biggest goddam empty room you've ever seen; 

We all sit around as I cut into my birthday cake, a candle for every person who came. 

I lay a single plate and fork down for all the guests who showed up.

This time knives were taken away from this pity party. 

My many friends and I crowd around this table for one. 

and I blow out the single candle on the cake. 

I am alone by a full body length mirror. 

I am not okay. 

These four words hold so much power and control. 

Here I am, demoting and provoking them. 

Slatering and slandering them. 

Because words are only words 

especially when there are no longer sticks and stones to throw at my reflection.