I’m okay,
I’m fine.
Okay,
fine,
I’m not:
who whispered that insidious lie
that what is broken inside
was made to die?
how often have i killed myself inside?
retrogression chokes tender roots
to instead plant this naive belief:
i am never enough.
I can only read
my own mind,
spell my name in the sand
and resist foisting myself,
my problems,
on souls I cherish.
how could i burden anyone
with this
when i wish no one else
to experience it?
i’ve learned to swallow loneliness
whole –
self-taught
to cannibalize
every version of myself;
have you ever had a document shredder
for a brain?
falling,
“you don’t have anywhere to land”
but i chose this,
“did they choose you?
hero complex,
righteous insecurity,
fear-induced self-doubt
and
generalized anxiety…”
maybe you giveaway
the love you never gave
yourself.
a cackling refrain:
this is how you die, living.
thatfroninja. 