When youth ran through me, ignorance kept me bright and happy. I loved living. I never felt the tight squeeze of my bubbled throat, when confrontation leaked darkness through my front door. I never shed a tear for the way I was wired - for the way I thought.
I never wanted to **** myself. Ever.
All these things, these hurtful things began too soon. I wasn't developed enough to figure my way out of this infinite crease, to blurt oceans of heavy, empty feelings I couldn't explain. My eyes faulted, and blurred whenever I'd look inside.
To find my charcoal heart.
I was struck too hard, too fast by reality.
While others walked joyously through blooming gardens. I would tread through a dark and claustrophobic hallway. I fear it's narrow depth, uneasy by the only path ahead.
I heard horrid buzzing sounds and consumingly loud thumps;
my heartbeats.
There was no light, only guidance by noise. When I'd trip on something, I'd cry and panic. Only, for it to be a thought.
I'd limp through a terrifying smell. Their smell, the smell of their confidence.
Or so I thought,
it was omnipresent in my life for years. Then, figuring out recently, the smell was my narcissistic thoughts, my insecurities, and the reason I am constantly folding the crease.
It sincerely is,
all my fault.
I thought I was the greatest,
in fact,
I am the lowest of them all.
The easiest book to decipher; translucent.
They knew me,
before I could find out for myself.
Written in 2021.