Sometimes I enjoy just laying. Eyes wide shut with an apprehensive stare towards the cracked plaster of the wall, body pulsing with an addictive relaxation fit, but I know that it's anything but relaxing. Ignoring the slow tears that slid down the shitty fabric of the bed beneath me; they grew cold as the window, untouched of its open position, let the bitter nights air twist through; I had very little care in my to close it.
My mother would be unpleasantly displeased if she knew that I was crying; my eyes, no, her eyes, ruined. The eyes that she had given me, birthed me with. She would call me ungrateful. Prude. Stupid and arrogant.
I grip onto the past like a treasure chest filled with all those things that I want nothing more than to get away from. A journey to self discovery but all I could ever do was hurt people along the way. People. My people.
The very people that I had the slightest or the most love for and I did this.. out of fear? Or was that something that I had sculpted in my mind, to feel a a hint of self worth? Why am I not worth something to myself, unless I match with another? False interests and fake words; but when will I not have too? Discouraging metaphors, whispers of intrusive thoughts but never actions. Whispers but never shouts, why can't I shout???
Who am I? Who could I be if I put some thought into it? Who could I be if not pretending to be what somebody else wants me to be?
It's not living if it's not with you
Never any control. The feeling of being looked down upon is bitter within my bones, chattering my teeth with irresistible guilt and anger. The eyes of those who had and could become everything. School ties, blue, red hair and you. But not the girl next to me.
You started this, no. Not you. It couldn't have been you if I was shaking with this feeling of self hatred since I was a small child. Family, friends, boyfriends and me. In that order. I potion for great self negligence. And all for what?
Nothing
