stuck

sometimes
I get so tired of trying to like myself
can't I give up on pretending that my self esteem exists
I ran way from what I was for 15 years
there is no way to make myself real
there is no way to make myself a shadow of what I am
call the number honey
they'll interview me and see my parents fit
I'll be stuck in this hell till death strikes me down
perhaps it will be by my own hand
maybe you still believe I'll survive the next two years rotting in my skin
honey, you have too much confidence in me
some things are almost tempting enough
to surpass this crippling force pushing me in on myself
but I guess you don't believe that's real either
nor the bruises
not the concussion
because times have changed
people change
I don't think she changed to be much more
maybe i can slit these wrists
and pretend I'm back when things were less complicated
and memories stayed repressed
in a corner of my brain
while i sat in the corner of my room
insisting to myself that I was insane