Everyone around me was at peace with themselves. They had a sense of security within themselves like a blanket that kept them warm and safe. A security blanket.
Insecurities, I was full of them. I was filled with the lack of security of oneself. If that made sense. There was too much that made me feel like this.
That made me feel inadequate.
That made me believe I was inadequate.
I wasn't anything.
I didn't matter.
But my eyes told a sad story,
If you looked at them too long.
I'd make you uncomfortable,
If I told you my thoughts.
This just wasn't the place to be.
Earth.
I wanted to be in the galaxies,
Somewhere burning hot like a star.
Instead I was slowly dying inside.
A dying flower.
My petals had drifted away.
I was just a dying stem.
Soon I would be unearthed.
And everyone would see me,
For what I really am.
A black hole of nothing.
A slave enslaved by her own body.
A bottomless pit of nothing.
A woman who had her light robbed from her.
Leaving her damaged and naïve,
Past fixing.
YOU ARE READING
Dim.
PoetryTired of trying to be everything. Trying to be perfect. Wrong paths and wrong people and missed opportunities. Am I letting my mental illness take over my life? A look into the mind of a BPD, Anxiety ridden woman. With no identity but her Panic. W...
