He calls me an "old soul" 

and what about that soul isn't worthy of 

innocence. 

When the words fell  

from his steel cold lips to the rock hard ground 

I knew what innocence, could have been,  

was hollowed 

out, 

scraped clean 

by hands 

that were supposed to 

love. 

Innocence then replaced by  

ignorance. 

What "old soul" is so... 

Naive; 

enough to be comforted by ominous eyes and cigarette breath. 

Enough to say "I love you Daddy," 

every night. 

The I love you's became 

habit. 

He says "bad habits die hard" 

I don't bother 

correcting, 

neither the phrase nor the 

cycle. 

My eyes  

open. 

There I lay, covered, 

unsatisfied. 

In a blanket made of self-loathe, 

I'd rather it be made of steel wool. 

I could scratch 

away 

the friendship between substance and  

loneliness, 

that stains  

my skin. 

Where am I? 

I have made my mind an enclosed dark room. 

Cloaked in  

resentment, 

trapped 

within the four walls  

that have my ugly thoughts 

scribbled across their ugly 

surface. 

The doors 

I had created, 

only lead to  

emptiness. 

A kind of emptiness 

that made your tears dry up 

before they fall. 

I'd rather drink 

the salt from my eyes, 

but he laughs, 

"don’t hold the liquor." 

 

 

 

I let my 

self-worth 

be crushed by an inebriated fist.  

Haunted 

by thoughts of what  

integrity  

could feel like. 

These feelings consumed  

me; 

He said "the glass is half empty." 

I stood, 

I said "the glass is half full." 

That was 

then; 

the words "old soul" felt like 

daggers. 

What is empty 

can be 

filled. 

My shell was re-inhabited with 

life.  

I omit the self-loathe, 

my final answer to it all was 

self-love.