This day doesn’t have a song it doesn’t have a theme. It’s tired and worn and warning my brain to take more care of my heart. It’s a day of telling myself I’m stupid, of reflecting angrily but knowing better. It would be a day of apology but I never do.
My chest feels shattered, kicked outward, all wounds are self inflicted. My wounds usually are. I don’t let people close. It’s a fractured hole but it’s pointless pain. A wound of healing rather than harming.
I am enraged over seemingly easy lives and naturally resistant psyches. It’s easy to be easy when it’s been easy. Easy, adored, never proving because you’re just so fucking fine. This battle is all within but you are the face of the enemy.
Spoiled - bad fruit maybe, dangerous ideas, getting above and all outside of place. I should have been born different. I should have been born with the right spoon, the knack of fitting in, the ability to tolerate bullshit. Something tore, long ago. Something cracked.
I can’t do it, you know. I can’t be what I want. I can’t be you. You’re the enemy I envy for what I am not. I know, though, that I’ll never be. And never being I’ll never be wanted. I’ll never get what you have. I’ll never be like you. I’ll never be ordered or calm or patronisingly kind.
My brain will always say but and question if I sound like an arse. Right now I do but you won’t see. I see all sides, all lines, all ways. I see it. I’m tearing shreds but it’s from me and it’s very hard to care. I don’t know if you understand what it is about me.