living

Mon, 09/24/2018 - 21:12 -- reyna

i don't really know what i'm doing here. really, i'm just trying to get by.

i don't think life has a purpose, but that doesn't matter.

my life has no direction, but somehow, i have a natural optimism. an optimism that is

used as a coping mechanism.

see, pain is just too much for me. emotional pain is my biggest fear and my mind is ruled

by anxiety

and the horrid thought of ridicule.

i have no friends, and i pretend

it doesn't get to me. i pretend

i don't get by because of a nice gesture,

or a good social interaction for the rest of the day

i pretend i'm okay.

because if people knew the truth, things would be even worse for me.

stigma.

i feel it everywhere no matter who i'm with, i'm always being judged, no, never

safe

but they're not there, no, i won't let them live in my head.

i only fill my head with good thoughts - block everything out, the spirits living in my

head singing songs

to comfort me

singing a story about a better future

that could never happen - becuase i hold myself back and

i can't unlearn

insecurity.

because some emotional scars don't heal. some hold your mind captive your WHOLE

life.

and some things are always on your back no matter what

and some things you can never share

because you're scared

and you need some love

or just a hug

because somehow, you fucked up.

where has that genuine joy gone? where is the girl who thought she could do anything?

i mean, she's partially here. we've gotta at least pretend that we have something to

look forward to after this

temporary

suffering, right?

no matter how much i look at things or read good books or the little feelings of

happiness that are mandatory for me not to batshit, life

has no purpose.

for me. others can be happy, but i am not allowed the luxury of emotional freedom.

and when i am free for a while, my consciousness tells me i'm spoiled, so i go back

into that depressive state that i deserve.

 

This poem is about: 
Me

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