I wish you could understand me.
I wish I could give you these feelings to see.
If I could lay them about in treasures and items to show I would, but I can't even do that.
And my explanation isn't enough for you either.
If I could show you the storm that rages inside my head and the bloodbath trapped in my chest, maybe you could understand.
That I don't have any choice in these things.
That I fight everyday to keep myself from being slaughtered by my own worst enemy.
But with your eyes now it's not enough.
When will it be enough?
I tried my best in therapy.
They gave me nothing but the words I tell myself.
I trained myself for years to stay far away from the five knives.
And when I try to give my words to you,
You call it an excuse.
Maybe if you actually helped me look for things to help you understand.
Maybe if you respected my diligence against the knives.
Maybe if you could see my exhaustion from fighting all the time.
Then maybe, just maybe, you'd have any idea.
So until then,
Be. Quiet.
YOU ARE READING
Accounts of (a) Probably-Not-So-Normal Teenager(s)
RandomThere's a lot to life. I'm just here to share my thoughts. --- Message me if you want an entry of yours put up here; it can be anything from a crappy poem you came up with, or just something interesting you thought of a while ago.
