I smiled at his pain last night.
A guilt-free indulgence.
How sick of an individual am I?
Leaning against the kitchen counter,
no one saw my lip turn up in shadows.
Because there's still unsolved things
Like how you showed me anger existed,
an anger no one had discovered before,
bursting with dangerous potential -
nothing I could predict with a barometer.
When I confessed that suicide was close,
you told me to leave when I needed you the most.
(you could never keep me safe)
I'm reminded of everything.
I'm reminded that there may be
nothing for me ahead.
How easier it would have been if you left
before you started making progress,
if you cut all ties so I wouldn't be confused
as a somehow functioning adult
trying to overcome my greatest fear:
mirroring your rage.
Half tempted to throw everything away
in big piles, after all, it's nothing significant
not when incurable thoughts intrude again.
See, I can't report a burglary when I'm
the victim and the criminal.
I'd rather be on the streets, nameless
belonging to no one, so no one could
wonder what happened to such a good
I am not prone to violence
only when my brain is self-deficient,
entering self-destruction mode
and I remember nothing of forgiveness.
Black waves engulf me.
I guess they have for years,
it's only now I've realized their weight.
I can't keep my balance
but I would rather keep slipping
than be rescued by someone out of pity,
out of obligation.
I'm sure you'll be worried
though no one asks what the traffic
is like in my mind, they just see
my impatience, my curled fists
as I try not to act on impulse
so I won't be forced away again.
(Shh, don't tell anyone)
These are not my thoughts.
I'll be able to hold my head above water
It’s interesting how this poem, in its wording, shifts from slight admittance to fully confessional, as if it all poured out towards the end. People will often criticise others for their actions, but never question the reasons why. You’ll be labelled an ‘angry person’ because that’s easier than trying to understand the roots of the problem.
When people try to help, try to understand, the voice in our mind tells us we’re a burden and they’re only acting out of ‘obligation’. There’s a voice here that’s desperate to be understood, but not just on the surface.
We’re humans, we all have dark thoughts. We embrace them as occasional anomalies, as we embrace the kinder and softer ones.
It’s brave to post poetry like this. There’s a lot here about the expectation, too, people expect you to be nice and kind all the time so when the switch flips, it’s almost as if you have to wear a mask, sit in the shadows, clench your fists because ‘that’s not like you’.
I related a lot to this. Thank you as always for sharing your thoughts
Thank you, dear STAR and Daniel. And yes, that's exactly it. It's like this cycle of should I stay quiet for fear of burdening somehow else or just be human and show that it's not always sunshine and rainbows. But then I will be mad at myself for letting others see the ugliness of my mind, or perhaps afraid they will take advantage or not believe me. Sometimes, the anger comes out and it's hard to process, or hold that anger in my heart. I think things can be unresolved for so long and people don't realize it can come back, at least in the form of intrusive thoughts. Things can get better but there are still memories that pop up and I feel trapped by them.