Thinking yet not processing,
acting without reason—
I often ask myself:
What am I doing?Must there be such impulsive behavior in me?
Animal I may be, but humans are the flawed.
Why do I act the way a pup would when playing with it's meek prey?I catch myself being the monster that tortured me,
following in his footsteps,
as I break myself with this knowledge.I know I can be loud,
obnoxious,
hurtful,
and just a plain old bitch.I don't mean to be,
and I only have myself to blame.I dress myself in this tough armor,
protecting a glass figure.Harsh words trigger this impulse—
I'm sorry,
I'm too sensitive—
And my only protection is to fight back.
YOU ARE READING
𝗣𝗼𝗲𝘁 𝗠𝗲 𝗔 𝗣𝗼𝗲𝗺
Poetrya collection of letters, poems, and short stories from deep within, a little addiction with it too; welcome to the emotions of the awkward teenage time we all once had.