This is Me

Each day I lose a little of myself

God only knows what I’m transforming into

I’m not even sure I like the person I’m becoming

Tired of play a role … of not having a voice

Cause at the end of the day no one listens

If I’m voiceless then I’m a mime going through the motions of life

In an imaginary box trying to break free

All the while smiling

Dressed up like a clown putting on a show … yeah that’s me. 

It’s not depressing

Life happens to us all.

At times makes us feel small, but others rise back up.

I continue to fall.

Because I continue to dream that one day I will be known for more. 

One day I will put away the games and the tears and I’ll be extraordinary.

One day I won’t cry myself to sleep reliving my hurts. 

One day I won’t depend on anyone to make it go away. 

I’ll just be me. 

Me.

ME. 

Wake up!  And realize the world isn’t perfect. 

That the imaginary box you live in is your shelter and once it breaks it will cut you like glass. 

Somebody’s going to break your heart. 

Molest you. 

Talk down to you. 

And they’ll still expect you to smile. 

You’ll be sick … and they’ll still expect you to move. 

To smile and make them laugh

That’s what they expect … so that’s what you do. 

Never forgetting the past. 

Not caring about the future. 

About yourself. 

You were this young girl filled with sass. 

You were brilliant and highly intelligent and extremely versed. 

What happened? 

What made you so insecure? 

Who killed that spark inside you that would have made you great? 

Who killed you?  They buried you in the ground six feet under before you had a chance to live. 

 

I was molested.

On Broad Street in broad daylight by a drunken man.  As people walked by.  He forced his hand down my pants and tried to ram his tongue down my throat.  I’d never been kissed.  I was a good girl, waiting for the man of my dreams to be his princess.  In that moment I realized that he’d never come and that there was nothing really perfect in this world.  That was the first time tried to kill myself. 

The first time I realized my thoughts didn’t matter.

The second time was when I fell in love and the man dumped me.  When it didn’t work I began to self medicate, Red Bull in the AM and pain killers in the evening.  It was the only way I could sleep without crying.   

The third time was when he got married.

That itch has come back and I don’t know why.  I should be happy but I feel like I’m dying anyway.    

I’ve begun to crumble.  My back throbs and the dreams have returned. 

I feel inferior to so many. 

I just want to be happy and to make everyone proud. 

To feel proud of myself. 

I hurt the people I care about. 

I keep almost dying.  It’s scary.  Feeling like your life is about to end and sometimes wanting it to. 

I hate feeling like I’m wrong and I don’t know anything. 

I miss having the feeling of knowing.