pushing closer to the surface
I’ve been burning with the urge to write,
to crack open my skin enough to let truth out,
but now that I’m here, I have nothing to say.
It’s one of those days that I want to hide,
under the covers, somewhere dark,
because my eyes would blink away tears and the
raw pain would ebb, just a little bit,
enough that I could get some peace;
enough so that the waves in my body would stop breaking.
I will fake optimism, but not in here.
this is my sanctuary.
A downward spiral?
It doesn’t matter what it is,
because I am wrought of fear.
Fear so pungent sometimes,
that when I’m alone it threatens to overwhelm me completely.
To capture every breath from me and force me back
to the squalor from whence I came.
And I fight it but it’s exhausting.
What if I am only made of the broken pieces that he held together?
What if I really have no essence?
What if I am not strong enough to bear my own weight?
because, you know, my legs have been idle for a long time,
perhaps that’s why I dislike them, because they are supposed
to be strong but they are weak and useless.
mood swings are rampant but i don’t care.
i haven’t lost myself, because you have to have something in the first place to lose it.
these are all words that i will laugh at, and take back beneath my tough exterior, tomorrow.
will things ever be enough for me?
will i ever be satisfied?
i am a person who always burns after more.
will it be different? do i have the power to change it?
will i ever stop dissecting life into such tiny pieces?
i really need to find a hobby to pour myself into,
because my neck is wet with tears I didn’t even know were there.
I am turning into a watering pot and I despise it, but I have accepted its necessity
to be open.
Who needs walls?
Walls are only necessary for those who have no strength.
And if I ever wanted anything,
it is to truly be strong.
I am finding the essence of me,
sans dependency,
and it is a slow, overwhelming, and painful task.
But maybe soon my feet will feel the Earth,
and my voice will contain some steel.
Maybe soon I won’t feel lost at sea.
Maybe soon I won’t be lost in clouds of emotion.
Maybe soon the struggle will stop feeling like it is in vain.
Because people are watching me.
And they are waiting, laughing behind their hands,
taunting me,
hoping that I’ll break, or realize I made a huge mistake.
Hoping that I’m weak.
Hoping that I’ll give in, fall back into what I was,
grovel on my knees for what I once had.
But I will never, EVER do that.
And I will take great pleasure in wiping that smug motherfucking look off of their fucking faces.
I do so love proving others wrong.
God, I need a cigarette.
Love,
Amanda