It's a kind of trickery, deceitful thing, something that brings no honor, no pride.
Only this, this; this thing that grows
That slithers up my throat, incapacitating me when you look at me.
Oh, when you look at me, I'm brought to my knees, because it controls me.
I hate it, I hate the way it makes me feel, but when I look at you, I see how I could ever feel this way.
But it makes me hurt, every day, every minute, every second, I don't see you.
You live in my head and this feeling rules me, it's unfair
Because it hurts, because you don't have this fear or anger towards it.
It feels like flying, but with no way down, some learn to accept it, others fear it, and others realize it's not right.
So they crash
And they burn
And it hurts.
But I know it's not like that for us.
For us, it feels like warm strawberries during golden hour
Like talking on a swing set
Being so tired you're giddy.
But it also feels like loss, like going back to your childhood home, only to see it in shambles.
It's knowing you will never be the same, that no one will see you the same
It's knowing pain
And in knowing pain, we see it.
YOU ARE READING
poems and short stories
אקראיpreviously "fireworks reflected in your eyes" I don't feel like that fit the piece anymore, and I needed a change but I still want it to be taken seriously. My earlier work (earlier chapters) are worse please stick em out and read the good stuff ♡♡ ...
