Who. Who told you that it was okay. To shame another human being for simply trying to be alive. For berating someone for how they choose to deal with their pain. When you know you do the same. No one needed to know. And I trusted you in confidence. But it was ripped away. The one thing I was able to hide so well. You angrily chose to show those that you knew I could never tell. Take off the covers and show the world. That's how it feels
"How could you not tell your own mother"
"You need to explain"
How am I supposed to be okay. How do you expect me to know how to not completely be ashamed. There is no simple explanation for why I cope the way I do. And this I've tried to explain to you. And you knew. Because how am I supposed to look at my mother and tell her about all the of the reasons I'm fucked up in the head:
Mom. I can't count the amount of times I've almost been raped
Mom. He would yell and scream
Mom. He saw blood on the knife and he told me I was weak
It was the only thing I had. And you understood that. Or so I thought. Fuck you. You knew. And you completely threw me away. Join the party.
YOU ARE READING
Ballad of an over thinker
PoetryHealing from bad relationships in the form of words. Some might be personal but hopefully this can help someone.
