I pretend to feel skinny and pretty
but I know I’m not beautiful or thin
I bleach my hair to cover up the grey
most days I feel fake in all ways

I wear clothes that hide my appeal
want I really want is to be real
I pretend to be an artist and a poet
but my work speaks for itself I know it

I struggle to speak my truth
stolen from me in my youth
Given up my right for basic needs
deeply rooted are her toxic seeds

This facade she created
is someone I have always hated
I’ve spent years peeling back layers
desperate to reveal my true nature

I lost decades cutting her away
razors turned dull the pain didn’t fade
Punishing myself needed to end
in order to survive I cannot pretend

I’m on a journey to uncover
the girl I protected from my mother
Despite her powerful instincts to hide
the woman inside is dying to be alive

Why is it that
In a room
Of people

That I still want to die
Right in front of everyone
But really
I would just disappear
And I wouldn’t be in front
Of anyone
But myself.

Death would be a fine thing
If I could magically disappear
For one second
And temporarily never come back.

Isn’t it such a fine thing to feel
Like I’m going to die alone.
What a fine thing if
I could forget how to feel,
For one second.

Death would be a fine thing
To dissapear for one second only