"I hurt."
You whisper.
"You have no reason to."
I reply, confident.
"But I do."
You turn away.
"I'm sad."
You tell me, meeting my gaze.
"You have no reason to be."
I chime.
"Then why am I sad?"
You ask, and I look into your eyes.
They are lifeless.
"Perhaps you are not."
I shrug it off.
"I hate myself."
You are trembling.
"You should not."
I reply firmly,
But that doesn't stop you
From drawing red
lines across your skin.
"Why am I crying?"
You sob.
"You should not cry."
I murmur, but it seems
You have nothing
Left to give,
But the tears streaming
down your cheeks.
Now I turn from my reflection,
And it's hidden truths.
I answer
With the musings of those around me,
Who do not understand what it is like
To watch your reflection
hurt, cry, break,
And to pretend it's not you.
In that white-washed bathroom,
Cold and alone,
It's easy to pretend she is someone else,
Someone from a totally different world,
And to cover those scars,
Your tears,
Your feelings,
And become another emotionless shell,
Just as they
Expect you to be.
YOU ARE READING
Writings to the Moon
PoetryMy readers are the witnesses to these jumbled thoughts that crash and collide in my head, that my fingers from the letters to words that work their way into sentences that become stories and tales for your brain to pull apart into sentences and word...
