Wearing clothes that I pretend
To not know how
'Perfect'
They would fit.
I just say, "Oh threw this on,
Because I don't really
Have time to look perfect"I stand in front of the mirror
With the urge of wanting to erase them...
Stretch marks that we scale
As silver linings...
Stretch marks that even
An eraser cannot erase.I feel what I feel
With such depth and aching despair.
I'm a finely tuned banjo,
In a sea of horned instruments
And no one wants to play me
Or open me up.
I'm so closed up.I'm swallowing...
Swallowing down my pride
Day in and day out,
Paying attention and trying to decide
Where I can hide my nervous sights
When I'm in a room of people
And still, feel alone.I need a break.
Break from this despair.
From the pain.
From this stretch marks.
From the mirrors around me.
From the people who look at me.
I don't know how to find that exactly
Without the dependence on chemicals.Now I'm finding a way to end this poem
When I'm still sad.
Believe me, it's the hardest part
Of trying to cope positively.
• • • • •Hope you all like it👍🏻
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Unfinished
PoetryNightmares of the past, dreams of the future, come together to finish what's unfinished.☄ - - - - - - - - - - - - "So, what is your story? We don't know. It's long and twisted and not quite finished yet." - - - - - - - - - - - #1 poetical #5 ink...