I don't know where to start

to explain

this thing

that covers my skin

almost like an

infection that I 

can't just take medication 

to get rid of

its lodged in my brain and 

formed this

mold around my fragile frame

but its nothing like your simple

plaster you used to sculpt with 

in high school on some art project

But when I was a teenager I was scared

I was scared of making the wrong noise

or 

saying the wrong thing

because it was just wrong, wrong, wrong

and boys? 

forget about them

and girls with the short skirts?

forget about them too

because they can't know about

those

evil things to distract me from school 

but in school I was taking every pill

every substace

every way to rebel

to escape this mold you made me

this 

control.

 

Wrong, wrong, wrong 

again another echo of what I am

another wave crashing on the erroding rock of what 

you want me to be this image you crafted this..

THING

Even as a young adult I find it hard to live

without realizing im living outside your prison walls

and I forget that I apologize so much

because thats all I am used to doing

because at the end of the day

when you talk

when you let your secrets out

they leave

they steal those secrets and they leave

Or thats what I am told

from the whispers of the anxiety crawling

in this black thick slime in the back of my mind

or when the emptiness of your absence and the house creaks slightly 

im petrified of this image i am

this mold that is so hard to break

its fine its okay

wrong, wrong, wrong

again echos in my mind

every situation becomes more complicated

because

this mold it wraps my skin 

it clings to every cell 

every cell of my being

and all I can think 

is the echos of

wrong, wrong, wrong