Dear You

Dear You,

I realized I couldn’t talk to you person. I’m too weak and shy too and I don’t know how else to feel. I make you guilty. I’ve been pondering that word. It’s the only thing running through my head right now. I don’t know how I have triggered that feeling. was it my attitude? My questions? My persona? How it is, I make you feel guilty? I’ve tried to answer that question, by myself. And I can’t figure it out and its driving me nuts.  I haven’t left my room since the day. I’ve been staring through the window staring at the passing clouds, looking to see if maybe they’ll have the answer or it’ll appear in the sky, but it hasn’t come.

I did something. I haven’t in the longest of times done. Prayed. I sat down and prayed asking him what to do. What to say? The reply, the silence buzzing in my ears. The high-pitched sound ripping through the air truly telling me I’m alone and desperate. The burning came only then to my eyes as I felt I fucked up again. That itching sensation on my face, angry at the world and you.  My hatred at you and at myself, mostly. Sadness at my stupidity and most importantly, feeling guilty. Feeling guilty for making you feel guilty, and for failing you. I know you’re thinking I’m so blonde for not knowing, but it’s me. Me, the unaware of the car about to hit her. Me, the don’t jump off or you’ll break your ankle. Me, the so stupid the door says pull not push. It’s like I’m programmed to fail and shrew up, and it’s so hard, it’s like trying to blow out a trick candle, and your bond by your hands and feet to a chair while everyone watches. Watches to see you fail and break down and beg for help.

I can’t believe I’ve been sitting here unable to write anything. Staring at the little flashy bar. Why can’t I put my words onto paper? Why is it so hard, to say sorry? I mean anybody could say it, but I want to unlike everyone else I want to explain myself. I want to somehow tell you how I deeply sorry I am without really saying sorry because I feel like that word is so over used. I feel like I’m ranting or talking pointless nonsense like none of this really matters and maybe I should just man up and text you, but I don’t know I can’t.  I can’t muster up the strength. I’m so weak. I’m like a baby. I stupid immature baby.

I first wrote this on paper it looked ugly with little drops of water staining the paper and messing up the ink. It looked so pathetic. I bet I must sound like the how the paper looked. I think I feel so lost because you were my light in the darkness that surrounded me and I say truthfully that whenever I texted you, it hurt my heart more than the attacks and the needles. It did hurt knowing that somehow, I was hurting you,
deep down I knew I was hurting you. You say I wasn’t but I know I am and was and it drove me crazy cause I can’t stand hurting others. The only person I want to hurt is myself. I hated it so much how I made you feel guilty. I hated myself.

I think my biggest worry right now is losing you, but most of all, is making you feel even more guilty. Because if that’s the case, then I failed at what I was getting at.

From,

Me

This poem is about: 
Me

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