bedhead_baby
stupid selfish baby
- Jul 16, 2023
- 115
A poem, a story, a description of my life, I don't know what it is. But it's here, and I wonder...
Were we born this way?
Was I born this way?
Is there a way out?
Is this forever?
The ones who want to help me, the ones who genuinely care, the ones who try to wrap sweet words of encouragement around my body to lift me to my feet again; they never look back. They don't feel my hand slip away from theirs, and they didn't notice how many steps I am behind. You're so far ahead of me, yet I can still hear your voice.
I'm happy, so why does it hurt? Why does every word that tells me not to go feel like a knife piercing my heart?
The thought of a future, one far from now, where I could be safe and content, makes my stomach begin to churn. All of the impossibly perfect "what ifs" are ejected with bile, and what little I have managed to eat. It feels like suffocation; my stomach painfully tight as my empty insides search for more to expel from my body. The hot feeling in my face, vision blurry from the tears, and heavy pounding in my skull, all remind me of what truly lies ahead. Without fail, I reach to touch my cheeks, just below my eyes, feeling the heat from broken blood vessels. The webs of blood under my skin are always mesmerizing, but they'll continue to throb for hours. The acid taste won't leave my mouth until morning, and my throat will burn for weeks.
It hurts so badly.
It hurts because you told me that I'm beautiful.
It hurts because you said that there's still hope for me.
It hurts because you told me not to die.
The sweet butterflies of excitement when you tell me you love me, begin to tear at my flesh.
It's not a love that makes me giggle and sway my feet. I don't fall asleep awaiting the next time you'll send that sparkly feeling through my body. Your perfect, hopeful words, are blades that stab deeper every step forward we take.
I can never keep up.
I will fall behind again.
And you won't look back.
I dread every morning. I can't stand your sweet, hopeful songs. My legs shake, and I can't hold myself straight. There's pressure in my head, and I'm too dizzy to focus. You sing to me again, and that tearing and burning and stinging in my stomach returns. My eyes are already swollen with tears, and I know it's time to repeat the motions.
But I don't want the words to stop.
Please say them all again.
I love to be this happy. I love the pain of love. I just can't bear it anymore.
What's it like to feel so sweet, you're floating out of your body? What's it like to see the future? To feel soft instead of sick?
Why is happiness so heavy to me? Why is everything good a disease?
Were we born this way?
Was I born this way?
I already know the way out.
I can't take this forever.
Were we born this way?
Was I born this way?
Is there a way out?
Is this forever?
The ones who want to help me, the ones who genuinely care, the ones who try to wrap sweet words of encouragement around my body to lift me to my feet again; they never look back. They don't feel my hand slip away from theirs, and they didn't notice how many steps I am behind. You're so far ahead of me, yet I can still hear your voice.
I'm happy, so why does it hurt? Why does every word that tells me not to go feel like a knife piercing my heart?
The thought of a future, one far from now, where I could be safe and content, makes my stomach begin to churn. All of the impossibly perfect "what ifs" are ejected with bile, and what little I have managed to eat. It feels like suffocation; my stomach painfully tight as my empty insides search for more to expel from my body. The hot feeling in my face, vision blurry from the tears, and heavy pounding in my skull, all remind me of what truly lies ahead. Without fail, I reach to touch my cheeks, just below my eyes, feeling the heat from broken blood vessels. The webs of blood under my skin are always mesmerizing, but they'll continue to throb for hours. The acid taste won't leave my mouth until morning, and my throat will burn for weeks.
It hurts so badly.
It hurts because you told me that I'm beautiful.
It hurts because you said that there's still hope for me.
It hurts because you told me not to die.
The sweet butterflies of excitement when you tell me you love me, begin to tear at my flesh.
It's not a love that makes me giggle and sway my feet. I don't fall asleep awaiting the next time you'll send that sparkly feeling through my body. Your perfect, hopeful words, are blades that stab deeper every step forward we take.
I can never keep up.
I will fall behind again.
And you won't look back.
I dread every morning. I can't stand your sweet, hopeful songs. My legs shake, and I can't hold myself straight. There's pressure in my head, and I'm too dizzy to focus. You sing to me again, and that tearing and burning and stinging in my stomach returns. My eyes are already swollen with tears, and I know it's time to repeat the motions.
But I don't want the words to stop.
Please say them all again.
I love to be this happy. I love the pain of love. I just can't bear it anymore.
What's it like to feel so sweet, you're floating out of your body? What's it like to see the future? To feel soft instead of sick?
Why is happiness so heavy to me? Why is everything good a disease?
Were we born this way?
Was I born this way?
I already know the way out.
I can't take this forever.
