What A Subtle Form Of Self Harm It Is To Love You.

What a subtle form of self harm it is to love you.

Such a gruesome death to die.

What a comfort it is to be to be loved by you.

Such a torment it is to be not.

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.

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.

The grave that I call my home

Where love doesn't exist.

The monster that I call my father

For whom peace doesn't exist.

The demon that I call my mother

For whom compassion doesn't exist.

The nightmare that I call my world

For which I dont exist.

The despair that I call myself

For whom joy doesnt exist.

The curse that I call my life

Where living doesn't exist.

Tw: self harm, ed

Alternate universe

In an alternate universe,

I am 14 and alone in my room,

And my hands haven't harmed myself yet.

In an alternate universe,

My mom isn't emotionally dead,

And my dad isn't the monster yet.

In an alternate universe,

I still have her by my side,

I haven't screwed everything yet.

In an alternate universe,

I don't flinch when I look in the mirror,

There are no scars on my thighs yet.

In an alternate universe,

I still eat like a normal person,

I haven't ruined myself yet.

Him

He was butterflies.

He was anxiety.

He was silent cries.

He was that feeling of empty.

He was reliance.

He was trouble.

He was treacherous.

He was loyal.

He was steady.

He was unstable.

He was needy.

He was unpredictable.

He was my almost lover.

He was a goddamn nightmare.

He was a million little emotions.

Mixed into a disconsolate one.