How can I explain
The range of emotions
That struggle so violently
Against the wall of self-hate.
It is more than a wall
It's a small room that slowly crushes me and
Sucks out all of the oxygen,
Folds my emotions up
Like paper, words on paper
They cannot explain
The self-loathing
I am not good enough.
How cliché,
But oh how heartbreaking.
YOU ARE READING
Petrichor
PoetryWe grow old eventually {here are the waking thoughts that consume me}
