There are 7 billion people in this world.
7 billion people screaming:
hello?
How are you?
Why do I destroy myself?
There are 7 billion people screaming so loud my eardrums sing the wedding march as they watch 7 billion people marry their anniversary to their death.
There is only one way to say help.
And I can’t say it.
Because I didn’t grow up knowing I could resort to such a thing as help. I was imprisoned from confinement and liberated from freedom and
It doesn’t make sense
because I wasn’t
taught
to be a person
when I only ever was
one.
I was taught to be a motion.
A movement.
The velocity of the earth or the speed of light or the volcanoes that speckle the distant planet of Pluto that have been discarded out of existence to be only distinguished by it’s size.
I want to be one of those 7 Billion people.
I want to be one of those shadows.
A Number.
No cause of Identity.
Fused into the narration of history so much that it doesn’t that I ever was a part of it. I want to be the wife of a tyrant and the mother of a killer. Known by association, but nothing more.
Known by a title, a number, never my true name.
I want to be the sun, the moon and the stars.
A foreign object faced with such ignorance.
I want to be Alice Fiend but all I’ve ever been is conflict.
I want them to see me, but how can they when I’ve never really seen myself?