It doesn't matter how loud I scream,
You wouldn't be able to hear me
That would require frequenting within, staring my mess of emotions in the face, and actually
Would mean to take a look at myself, at the risk of seeing that you were right. That I was stunted and scarred, and too stubborn to see it.
(You weren't, for the record)
To look someone in the eye,
know they will shatter every good thing you have felt,
allow them to convince you otherwise,
and have them prove you right – time and time again -
useless collateral damage
while they blow the world up in flames around them
never fucking mending a damn thing
Because god damn it if they actually knew what it meant
to be alone for longer than half a second or two weeks
or whatever their lack of concept of time would allow them before they take someone down with them.
You haven't known alone in a long time.
You told me you were used to it,
but you've only rarely been acquainted.
And finally, I'm understanding that
I always felt like I knew you,
And I haven't been wrong yet.
You see, you said you saw yourself in me.
But I think far more than that, I saw myself in you.
I saw myself two years ago,
and two years before that,
Trying to find the strength to move
But never knowing where to look,
Taking half a step in the right direction
Then falling back into the comfort of loving yourself
self love is so much more than just
a couple of selfish decisions
Tell Me Again About My Growth.
The countless paintings I've suddenly struck
the nameless god I keep thanking for my luck
the piles of paper and textbooks,
the good and hard and inside looks
Alone hasn't meant a l o n e
And maybe you didn't get it when I told you
For the first time in my life
I'm both productive and producing
And fuck me for hiding it for so long,
Because sharing counts for something.
Fuck me for not seeing that I have
and at the very least, One of them is
Now Tell Me Again About Yours.
I hope you come up with something.
