The poem as prey, as blood luscious, elusive. The poem as the locked room.
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Is it normal to grieve yourself?
And still yearn the grief?
To know you'll be eternally hurting,
Why is it such a relief?
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More Posts from Unlikelyanonymous
I wish I was religious so atleast I could pray to something.
But I talk to god and the sky is empty.
For nothing can restore my faith,
This is not the world I wish to live in.
I wish I was what my parents wanted me to be.
But I look in the mirror and I am empty.
Nothing can restore my self,
This is not the body I wish to be in.
I scream and cry and yell at you to have given me this life.
Birthed me ugly,broken,tarnished and useless.
Ruined me and made me hate myself.
But what right do I have to blame you or anyone else?
For no one has been as cruel to me,
As I have been to myself.
You didn't ruin me; I just hate myself.
There is love in my mother's disapproval.
It is there in the way she looks at me,
The way she loathes my existence.
It's not visible but it's there.
There is love in my father's resentment.
It is there in the way he talks to me,
The way he is ashamed of me.
It's not apparent but it's there.
There is love in my family.
It is there in broken dreams.
It is there in domestic scars.
So much love that you almost mistake it for hate.
What is family if not hate disguised as love
What am I?
A strange thing to wonder
I'm the anger of my father,
And the silent cries of my mother.
I'm the broken pieces of childhood,
Of a once happy daughter.
Tw: eating disorders and self harm
The monsters in my head. They won't leave.
An empty stomach. A grave where I live.
Scars on my thighs. A strange relief.
A disconsolate existence. A sigh of grief
My shattered childhood. It haunts me still
Whimpers of pain. A broken will.
Venomous family. Full of greed.
Begged you to stop it. It never did.