You Won’t See This

I wonder if I’ll ever be everything you hoped I could do for you.

Am I broken?
Or do you just need something to fix?

I’m aching beneath a need to satisfy what I don’t understand.

And you, may never understand me.

Dissatisfied.

It’s amazing to me how I can go from free-falling cloud nine, to wishing I was dead just by walking alone with you.

You criticize the way I walk. What I chose to say. What direction my eyes are moving. And then get mad when I shut down and give up on being real.

I always wonder what causes this drastic shift.

I look into your eyes and sometimes fantasize about bleeding out.

Mouth shut screaming through my own skin.

I fantasize about how much you’ll love me while I’m eviscerated in your arms, my insides swollen, and overflowing onto the fragile steel I’ve created out of every thought and tear I’ve both eaten and forgotten through the years....

If I lay inside out like that,
Would you finally ask me how I’m feeling? Would you finally listen to the entire response without interrupting me with your own needs.


Would you touch to heal. Touch to listen. Would you still blame me if I told you it hurts.

I’m in pain. It makes you mad so I’ve stopped telling you.

And you recently told me that it’s too exhausting to be my villain. I’m sure it is.

I’ll take the blame, because it saves me the pain of trying to make any sense out of it.

Maybe I’m too sensitive. Maybe I’m just sick and need someone to blame. Maybe it will feel like this no matter who I am with, because I’m the problem.

You beg me for touch.
And I beg you not to touch me. Anymore.

We argue over whose fault it is.

And I’m tired because it’s been so many years of trying to figure out why we can’t  be this idea we’ve always had of each other.

I wish I was dead.
But I also need to feel alive.

I know that you see me seconds away from shattering, while I sip from tiny tea cups across the table at our favorite lunch spot.

Do you wonder why I’m so sad? Or have you given up?

Do you assume it’s my sickness?
I know its become a joke to you, because you tell me.

I want to cut myself open onto the dark wood of the table. And scream at the top of my lungs.

I want to bleed out until my heart stops trying to feed itself. Blood free-falling of this dead end cliff.

Because I miss you, but you’re right in front of me. Behind your eyes is something so far out of reach I feel I’ll die of thirst before ever arriving at the place inside of you that loves me.