The Right Words

Words are stupid.

When I don't want words,

They won't go away;

When I need words,

They're never there.

 

I wish my brain had

an ON / OFF switch;

I wish I could tell myself

to just

STOP THINKING

 

I wish I could go to sleep

and actually sleep

instead of dreaming

about being awake

and still dealing

with the same stress

and the same anxiety.

 

I'm tired of holding

other people's baggage

and waiting for them to 

offer me a hand with mine.

 

'cuz there's those few people

who will offer,

but even with them,

 

I've learned to accept

too much disrespect

to trust that they

actually want to help.

 

My brain won't stop

telling me how much

they hate me...

 

So as much as I want

to be enough for her

- for anyone -

I will never be enough

for myself, 

 

and I can't keep

blaming my self-hate

on a need to be

wanted.

 

It's not healthy

and it's not fair;

to me or

to them.

 

Before,

there was never any

doubt in my mind

when it came to my worth:

I had none...

Now I question that.

 

Sometimes, it feels like

I have a lot of potential,

and that I can do great things.

 

Other times,

I sit and relive

every single awful thing

I've ever done...

 

When it comes to 

the people around me

- the people I love - 

it's a little more complicated.

 

I want to believe that they care - 

No...

I know that they care

 

but there's that little voice

that tells me

 

I'm not worth it

and they're lying

and I should just 

 

disappear.

 

It would be better

that way.

 

I know that's not true,

but my head won't wrap around

the possibility that 

maybe

- just maybe - 

I might be worth it...

 

I can't turn off that voice.

I just have to sit here

and let it scream

and try not to let me pull me under.

I can't make it go away

but I can make it less important.

 

Sometimes though,

I don't want to fight it

or make it any different;

 

I want to let it win.

I want to give up...

 

but what if that

doesn't fix it?

What if I wake up

in a hospital

or another life

and everything is

just as bad?

 

What if it's worse?

 

I can't risk that;

I know how much

it would hurt the

people I love

and I can't do that.

 

I can't.

 

I'm trying to live

for myself

and only for myself,

 

but that's really

really hard

because I'm not

so sure I want

to live for anyone.

 

I FUCKING HATE

my brain;

 

I want it to listen

to what I want

and what I need

and not what I fear - 

 

but making it do what I want

is like forcing 

mercury

through the eye

of a sewing needle.

 

I'm not good at the

talking-out-loud thing,

so I write

and I write

and I write

and I -

 

wish my handwriting

was neater

and that the words

would just fucking 

fit together,

 

because even on paper,

these words

 

aren't the right words.

 

Maybe if I say them

in the right order

with the right pace

and the right rhythm

and tone...

 

maybe I can

make them sound

like they just

might go together.

This poem is about: 
Me
My family

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