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“I’m Fine”

This lack of control is killing me,
your eyes are open but you can’t see,
the pain I bury, the shame I hide,
the secret anger I keep inside.
Sometimes I speak but you can’t hear,
my words are stunted, censored by fear,
I choose it all so carefully,
I want you to know, but I’m afraid you’ll see.

My weakness and all I’ve become,
my desperation and all that I’ve done,
the holes I’ve dug and the walls I build,
I hide my feelings beneath blankets of guilt.
I can’t explain why I keep it inside,
when you know it happens, why do I lie?
You know the reality, you’ve seen the truth,
yet I do my best to keep this from you.

I slide down further, I lose my grip,
you reached out for me but I let myself slip,
and why do I do this, why do I fall?
I never meant for any of this, any of this at all.

This loss of power, it’s destroying me,
it’s chipping away at who I used to be,
I wash my hands, I tidy this away,
sweep it under the carpet because I’ll never say,
that I’m losing control, that I can’t seem to stand,
on my own, without your hands,
to pull me up out of this hell I made,
the monster I created that day.

I try to control us, but it’s killing me,
my eyes are open but I’ll never see,
past the bathroom and the kitchen light,
I reach out to you, but you’re not here tonight.
My disgrace, it’s tearing my skin,
it’s ripping at everything I’ve ever been,
a crutch I made, a path I chose,
I have no control, and I know it shows.

Tiny white pills, slowly killing me,
but I close my eyes, refuse to see,
empty bottles hidden and your photo on my wall,
nothing can save me… nobody at all.
This lack of control was always killing me,
what I loved was always the enemy,
letters unwritten and diaries burned,
pills, bottles, bathrooms – lessons I never learned.
Words I wrote never got to you,
feelings I’ve hidden, but it’s nothing new,
it’s nothing you haven’t heard before,
just another night on the bathroom floor.
This lack of control, you speak to me,
I want to confess, I want you to see,
but I fall silent, consumed by the shame,
just two words:
‘I’m fine’
…as I fall apart again.

(c) 2008

 
25 Comments

Posted by on May 18, 2012 in Poetry

 

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Nine Years

Nine years of sleep-starved nights
And a restless hunger, which I can’t shake
Nine years, which have lead to this weakness
And the filthy habit I can’t break

Nine years of bittersweet clarity
Of my body and mind detached
Of these empty promises I feed myself
Of this itch I cannot scratch

Nine years since I admitted defeat
And found a friend in abuse
A companion in a twisted world
A perfect lie, a perfect excuse

To be this empty person
To exist within a shell
To keep my feelings to myself
To perfect my private hell

Nine years of binging and purging
Of starvation to purity
Of the blade, the lighter, the uncried tears
Of the distorted images of me

And still you don’t see through this
You see the smile but not the pain
Which is thinly hidden behind these eyes
Along with the years of shame

Nine years of guilt surrounds me
As I pull my hair back off my face
Run the tap and kneel on the floor
And fall back into disgrace

Nine years have passed since the first time
Yet I may as well be back there
12 years old, purging my soul
On the floor, exposed, shaking, bare

Nakedness still frightens me
My body is still not my own
The skin on my hands doesn’t belong to me
In my chest, my heart is a stone

The images of myself betray me
The mirrors tell lies through the glass
I feel as though I am still that 12 year old girl
But in reality, nine years have passed.

21, on the bathroom floor
The smell of vomit hangs in the air
Fingers aching and throat sore
And the shame, because this time I care

Nine years ago, on the same floor
Kneeling down as though to pray
Tears in my eyes and acid on my teeth
With no idea what I’d started that day.

Nine years of doctors, of hospitals, of pills
Of weight charts and targets and scales
Nine years of blood pressure and laxatives and aching
All mean nothing now that I’ve failed

Nine years of endless nights
Of silent tears, abuse and heartache
Of bathroom lights and kitchen-spent nights
Of this filthy habit, I just can’t break.

(c)  2006.

 
1 Comment

Posted by on May 24, 2011 in Poetry

 

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