i can only be me

i̷̝͆̓̋̑͑͗̒́́͘͘͠ͅ ̸̡̬̙͔̙͑̀̑̀͂m̵̧̎̉̈̂͛͊͗̃̅͊͊͋̀̔̀i̴̡̢̛̯̰̙̘̱͒́͑̏̀̂̕̚͠s̵̗̹͇̱̞̙̙͇̈́̑̃̾̌͆͂̌͐̒̎̐̔͝͝s̴͚̘̣̎͑͒̿̈́͗̈́̍̃͛͛̀̍̚ ̵͈̮̬͖̥͓͔̩͙̣̰̤̾̏̎̉̾̀̇̈́̑̾̇̾͒̃̓y̶̡̢̧̹̪̖͇̬̐ỏ̷̥͙͉̫͈̣̱̳̟̱̠̾̅̅̊̉̃͒̋̈́͌͜u̶̢̘̩͈͚̠̬̜͖̤̘̘̗̇̄̊̇͛͌ͅ

sometimes i wonder, was it enough?

i̷̝͆̓̋̑͑͗̒́́͘͘͠ͅ ̸̡̬̙͔̙͑̀̑̀͂m̵̧̎̉̈̂͛͊͗̃̅͊͊͋̀̔̀i̴̡̢̛̯̰̙̘̱͒́͑̏̀̂̕̚͠s̵̗̹͇̱̞̙̙͇̈́̑̃̾̌͆͂̌͐̒̎̐̔͝͝s̴͚̘̣̎͑͒̿̈́͗̈́̍̃͛͛̀̍̚ ̵͈̮̬͖̥͓͔̩͙̣̰̤̾̏̎̉̾̀̇̈́̑̾̇̾͒̃̓y̶̡̢̧̹̪̖͇̬̐ỏ̷̥͙͉̫͈̣̱̳̟̱̠̾̅̅̊̉̃͒̋̈́͌͜u̶̢̘̩͈͚̠̬̜͖̤̘̘̗̇̄̊̇͛͌ͅ

often times i think, could i have done more?

i̷̝͆̓̋̑͑͗̒́́͘͘͠ͅ ̸̡̬̙͔̙͑̀̑̀͂m̵̧̎̉̈̂͛͊͗̃̅͊͊͋̀̔̀i̴̡̢̛̯̰̙̘̱͒́͑̏̀̂̕̚͠s̵̗̹͇̱̞̙̙͇̈́̑̃̾̌͆͂̌͐̒̎̐̔͝͝s̴͚̘̣̎͑͒̿̈́͗̈́̍̃͛͛̀̍̚ ̵͈̮̬͖̥͓͔̩͙̣̰̤̾̏̎̉̾̀̇̈́̑̾̇̾͒̃̓y̶̡̢̧̹̪̖͇̬̐ỏ̷̥͙͉̫͈̣̱̳̟̱̠̾̅̅̊̉̃͒̋̈́͌͜u̶̢̘̩͈͚̠̬̜͖̤̘̘̗̇̄̊̇͛͌ͅ

how much more can my heart bleed, crushed mercilessly in a vice masquarading as love. defeaned ears refuse to acknowledge, only demanding another piece of me.

f̵͓̤̳̜̓̀̒͊̈́́͛̕͝͝ơ̵̖̠̝͇̞̗͈̤͑̉̉̑̓̒͘̚̚͝ṛ̶̛̛̤͔͖̮̠̞͚̾̓̈́́̋͂̌̇̊ ̵̨̇̎̆̀̿͌͘ͅp̶̦̺͙̪̫͉͎̺͌̆̈́̋͑́͝e̴̩͓͈̝̺̖̞͙̳̮͒͂̓̈́͐̆̂̐̔͗̔à̷̡̛̛͍͙͇͈̗͚̗̪̥̺̩̗̍̊͊ͅc̶͕̟̱̰͖̜̗͆̅̿̐̽͐͌̔͒͆̃͜͝ë̴̡̗̲͉̩̬͈̯̳̪͎̖́̾͋̋̀̃̃̃̐͛̕̕͠ͅ

already fragmented, how many times must i shatter in order to help others shine?

i̴͖̻͓̥̦̟͎̳̲͆̑̿̅̽̅ ̵̨̧̧͓̼̫͎̦̠͚̱̰̻̖̞̄̿̀̀͑̒̌́̇̂̇́͘͠t̴̟̼͕̩̼̠̯̟̎̂̿̑̈́͑͌͛̚̕͝͝h̴̢͈͓̻̹̮͇̹̰̄̑̂̓̊̄̇͐̏̇͝͝ő̷̢͙̞̮̬͓̼͆͘̕ų̸͙̪̖̄̌̇̌ͅg̴̢̫̺̯͎̼̞̻̭̈́̑̓̚͠͝ͅh̸̨̗̱̘͎͓͕͉̱̘̫̩͓̐̇͌̋͐̅̊̈́̓̽̏͘ͅt̶̡̞̖̹̱̲̼̟̩̠̼͌̌́͜ ̵̢̫̺͕͍́̎̐͋͌͑̔͛y̷̠͈̺̙͔͚͙͚̘͔̥̌̀͗̊͑̍̈́͝ọ̷̰̺͖̥̞̱̟̱̫̹͚̖̒̒̋̿͗͋̅͝͝ů̶̢̡̪̭͖̞͇͛̈́̎̃̈́̈́̓̀̂́̔̕͘'̸̢̰̰̞͆̈́̐͑̽̒̍d̴̢̧̞̬̥̺͉̠̟̤̠̫̟̓͆͒̊̂̈̄͜͝ ̴̢̫̾̽́̃̅̀̂̏̊́͊̕̚b̸̢̻̱̖̬͓̝͙̥͇̹̻͊̇̉͗͗́͊͆̌̈́̋̌̕͝ȩ̵̨̧̬͈̫͙͍̪̭̫̙͍͎̀͋̓̊͒̉̂͗̓̊͂́͑̊͠ͅ ̸̧̘̯̩͔̻͖͍̼͚͉̟̫̬̔̊̓͠ͅo̴̮̯̐̃̀͌͘v̷̳̘̘̖̙̺͍̥́́̍͋̾͑͊̐̀͐̏͑̐̓͘ë̷̯́͋̍͝͝r̸̛̞̊̆͒̓̽̆̎̈́̈́̐̃͝͠ ̴̛̛͚̼̥̟͔̻̘̜̈́̓͌̈̈́̈́̔̈́̕͜͠ͅi̵̢̨̙̣̦̗̗̅͑̂̃͊͛̇̄̚͠͠͝͝͝t̴̢͖̒̄͌́ ̶̛̦̜͚̐b̸̨̛͓̝̥̖͍̲͓͕̬̺͖̣͑̌̒̆ÿ̸͇͍̲̗̫̗̼̪̜͇̰̮̼͑̋́̏͗͌̊̎̉̌̊͘͝͠ ̴̘̉̊͗̿̂̈́͠n̷̨͍̬̗͖͈̤̞̞̽͊̇͒̎̈́͒̇͑̈́̀͂̐̃ǫ̷͎̟̳̘͗̍͐̐͌̓̓̐̇͂̚͠͝w̶̼͈̟̲͓̿̀͑̉̔̄̀̽͒̀͠

selfish, selfish, why must i be the one who is selfless?

no more.

i̴̢̢̨̨̱̦̖̭͂ ̵̟͔̜̝̣̣͕͈̪̟͕̹͋͌̽̓̇̓͊̈̉͜h̸̡̙̝͚̼͔̯̀ͅa̵̳̜̓͐̇͒̇̑̊̐͌̋̚̚͝t̵̡̨̛̞̟̅́̇͂̌͌̌͛͠͝͝e̸̖̠͗̂ ̸̛̱̝̰̮́̑̎̑͋̅̇̽͗ÿ̷͇̲̦͎̞̖̝̲̰̩͇́̏̈̅͗͛̆̽̉o̴̭̺̯̬͕̯̣̐̃͋͊̎̅̉́͒͗̉͘u̴̡̙̦͈̪̮̖̭̥͚̞͚͓̍̆

do not demand of me, boundaries broken, fractured and organized so that others may sit freely on their walls.
my boughs will not bend, no matter what wind howls, no matter what dogs such firmly placed roots.

y̶͙͍͉̪̤̳̼̣̝̹̦̩̗͂̽̐̒̋͝͠o̶̭̔̆̌̊͗̈́̏̄̐̿̈́͝͝͝ų̷̢͔͎̩̥̹͙͑̿̄̃̅̇͐̉̃͂̉͜͝ ̶̧̹̦̤̟̼̞͕̻̭̹̾͆́̽̎͋́͒͠ḏ̸̨̦̪̬͍͍͇̭̣̭̘̿͊̂̊̆̽̋ǫ̵̨̲̝͎̱͇̰̪̯̭͎̻̽̌ͅͅn̷͍̙͋̐̓̇͛̀̀͗̈́̈́̌̉͐͆̑'̴̭̙͓͈̩̲̠̯̭̜̀̈́͜͠ͅͅt̶̺̞͎̊́͗̒͝ ̴̛̯̝̟̈̈́ę̴̧̺̫͕̻̳̼̖̤͎͈̙̖͂̂̔͘̕v̵̡̗̘̰̫̦̭͇͔̙̙̹̗̼̎̇̃̈́͐̓͂̍́̆e̸̢̛̫̞̭͈͍̪̻̤̽̒̌̄̓̅̊͂͆̽̍̃͘͝n̵͈̙̠͚̟̥̱̟̋̔̽͘̕͝ ̵̢̥̲͚̣̠̮̳̞̥̂͐̈͑͋́̀̂k̵̛̞͈͍̮̇̄̏̄̄͆̋́͝ņ̴̻͍͎͎͈̹̗̺̀ö̵̧̡͚̖̺̹͕̬̗̤̫̰́͂̅̎̊͜͠͝͝w̶̡̲̲̺̳̟̤̱̐̒̓̀̋̕͜͝ͅ

no one sees, no one sees, how could you foster so much disdain? each tear falls like acid and etches itself forever into the foundation of my very self. i am drowning in an ocean of my own empathy. too much, too loud, too soft, too angry, too too too....

l̸̬̰̬̹̫̖͈͋ͅo̴̢̮̺̟̞̤̖͚̟̻̣͈̻̘̾̀̆͌̍̚͜ǫ̴͖͇̖̗̙̹̈́͌̈̎̑͑k̵̡̮̳̩̰̠̬͉̜͙͐̀̐̉͐͊̀̏̔̚͜͜͠͝ ̸̢̺̘͉͚̈́͐͐̎̏̈̓̓̇̔̈́̀ï̸̪̰̦̬͈̥̙͎̣̰̉͂́́͜͜ǹ̶̨̛̫͇͍̬̘̟̊̅̉̉̎͆̐ ̸̡͍͔̖̥͉͙̣̘̱̱͖̲͋̓̌̓̿͝ẗ̸̟̹̖͖͇̼̳̝̘̲́̈́̀̆͌̄̓͆͑͊̆̇̕h̶͙̻͚̮̘̲͚̞͇̥͕̣͛̒͒̈̔̑̄͝è̷̱̤̟̈̈́̇͑͒̐̑̐̔̎̀̈̍̊ ̵̡̡̨̯̭̠̠̰͛͂̿̊̈m̴̯̣̣̺̯͖͔̖͓͂̃̅͗̅̄̈́̾̄̑͐͑̽ͅį̸̦̣͉̻̗̼͗̍͛͗̔̚ͅr̶̳͉̞͋͑̄̄̎̓̑̾̿͐͘̚͘͝r̴̙̖̥͉͔͈̯̫̳̯̉̾̃̈́̎̄͜o̴̲̜͕̟̹̙̱̦͂̓͜͝ͅr̶̲͌

the scales are tipped in such macabre favor; it often feels like victory is just within arms length. stop asking me to shoulder atlas' burden, to carry the weight that is often ignored. heavy is every tear shed that was born of someone else's sorrow.

i̸̹̻̍͜ ̷̥̥͔̱̱͕͎̟̫̓̇̈̈́͂̓̿̚̚͝͠c̸̨̡̧̢̬̥̗̰̰̟̺̲̈́̂̀̀a̷̢̨̛͖̯͔͍̫̫̠̠̹̜̖͗̽̊̇̀͂̽n̴̡̡̙̫͇̙͚̼̙̪͓̜̙̺͑ͅ ̵̨̧̭̖͇͚̼͉̗̞̜̻̗͈̟́̐͌ǒ̴͈̑́́͑͝͠͝n̶̳̳̼͔͍̬̞̘͇̩̉̄̋̍̏̀͒̂̀̉̈́͝͠l̸̢̹͉̳͇̼̮̺̱̜̻̻͔͇̀̒́̃͑̆̓̀̾̾̈̒͜͝͝y̵͚͒͋́̏ͅ ̸͎͇̫͍̞̙̟͉̖̪̂͗̔̊͑̀͑̃̑́͠͝ͅḇ̴̡̛̮͈̦̺͇̭̳͕͈̑̅͛̇̌͌̈́͑͘͜͠ȩ̶̨͉͕̥̼̱̰̔̂̇́͛̾̋͋̾̇̕͝͝͝ ̸̡̛̠̺͔̦̳̝͐͋̈́̅͛͐͐̋̀̃̆͝͝m̵̛͍̝̬̻͍̫͉̮̩̬̓͛̍̓͆̋ę̸̨͚͔̳͈͙͉̱͙̮͓́̔͆̔͊͒̆̌̇̒̾͑̚͜.̷̣̱̺̂̑̽̓̊̅̕͝