They don’t know

Standard

I hate them,
I hate them because I lose who I am when I’m around them
I forget the person I fought hard to become and embrace
I forget my strength, I forget my voice, I forget the power of my wisdom and the rationality of my mind
I am small and powerless, a victim of nonchalance and subconscious belittling
A product of self-motivated educational brilliance, and nothing else
They don’t know that I was exceptional, because I was never free enough to be anything less
They don’t know that I stopped striving for perfection because it filled my body with dread. It ruined me
And it still ruins me, and I’m lost and hurting and hungry for some release, hungry for danger and power and control because I’m dying to be someone else
I die to be someone else whenever they’re close, as though their auras were made of my own personalised happiness repellant
And they kill me with the kind of affection that my heart can’t understand
They kill me because I’m too different and sometimes too alone because of it
They kill me because just BEING aches with them, it hurts,
the feeling of being alien hurts
every time I leave im mad and sad and bitter and the tiniest bit more broken than the last time
Every time I leave I know I’ll need days to recover
I know I’ll need nights of toxicity
Loving, toxicity,
To filter the madness, soften the anger, lessen the hurt,
turn my blood back to red ink
Instead of salt water tears

Advertisements

Toxic

Standard

You’re the furthest thing from any form of knight in shining armour
In actuality I’ve already found mine
But I am captivated by the vigour of your free spiritedness
Somewhat consumed by the brooding of your aura
I am addicted to the way in which its easy
and the way that nothing ever needs to be said
I am captivated by our relationship of metaphors
Stimulated by the subtext of our blunt conversation
Deep ocean blue eyes that suppress everlasting adoration
Mischievous smirks that speak a world of sharp truthfulness
Truthfulness that should never be spoken
I am entranced by the shameless way you talk it anyway
And the shameful way you know it

Some days

Standard

Some days I’m barely making it out on my own two feet.
I’m gliding on fear and confusion,
grappling on the ledge of desperation –
Desperation and despair
Some days I’m deafened by the pounding
of my heart, and the rush
of blood in my ears. F e a r.
Some days I’m blinded by the dryness of my eyes. The
greyness of my vision. The bleakness of my mornings,
in-betweens, and nights.
alone again.
I’m weary of life. Weary of consistent living. Weary
of my comfort in nothingness.

Escapisms

Standard

I’ve found too many forms
of escapisms in my lifetime
I’ve discovered that the best thing
that I sometimes know how to do is
run
– occasionally with my head over my shoulder long enough to trip me up and drag me back to the source of my
so called problems.
And so I keep myself running
find solace in alcohol
a wonderland in cigarettes
and a place far, far far away in poison
until
the end of the night
when
I’m curled up
when
the thumping bass’s gone
when
I’m alone again
when
I come to remember that
I can never escape for long enough,
I can never escape far enough,
to get away from myself.