The borderlined life excerpt nine from my poetry book:
I think of death often. The thought greets me every morning as my eyelids flutter open and kisses me goodnight before I sleep, death meets me where no one else has, in the total abyss of my mind. It tells me to surrender to the peace only it can provide me, and I dance with the idea. What would it feel like to be freed from my mind forever? There is a comfort I know I will never find anywhere else, an alluring sense of serenity I have searched for my whole life. I became death, the way it became me.
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Love is nowhere (for me)
it’s dark
it’s unseemly
but maybe it’s just right
for a demon like me
the dark is my home
i revel in self pity
and my daily plight
is about how i get by
knowing i am what i am
it is immutable, it can’t be changed
nowhere is everywhere and it’s nowhere for me
all the demons travel in packs yet i am alone
i was created, my master is my self-hatred
i am what i think i am
it burdens me, it is my cross to bear
but the others, they do not care
to them, i am a querulous child
who can’t be bothered to fight
overburdened by the pain of life
if feeling like this is so wrong
why is it the only thing i know?
they scold me, call me weak
i am fighting my battles my own way
why can’t you see?
i suppose the demon will be neglected
and love doesn’t exist
it is nowhere in my life
it can’t be fixed
it really makes you see
that the monster in frankenstein
was merely seeking love and affection
what a crime
we’re all capable of
such a shame it never comes to be
love is nowhere
but especially for me
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I’m getting back into the era where I hate my face and hate even just having a body :///
Guess it was bound to happen, I’ve been confident for way too long
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mirror - an original poem
my body no longer feels like my own,
i dont know whos it is or who it belongs to,
but it’s certainly not mine,
it feels foreign to me
made up of skin that hugs too tight
and bones that feel too heavy
i no longer recorgnise me when i look in the mirror
i see a plethora of different parts of me that i individually can tell are mine
the hair i died,
the face i peirced,
the small scar on my left eye from when i was a child that you can only see if you look closely enough,
but if i stop looking at the individual parts of me and look at me whole it becomes void of myself again
if i look in the mirror for too long it becomes lost on me again,
i don’t recognise me again
if you stuck me in a room with a past version of myself,
i truely dont think she would know who i am,
if you then told her i think she would be disappointed,
i think i might be held hostage here,
my actions don’t feel like my own
my reactions feel like they are coming from someone else
my bad choices feel someone is making them to punish me while i feel incapable of stopping them,
i dont feel like myself,
i dont feel like my own person,
i feel controlled by something bigger then who i am
but i know realistically it is still me,
i made me look this way,
i make me act this way,
i have no one else to blame it on,
i hate who i am
and i wish i was still someone else
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I decide that you must hate me
But that isn't fair to you
Because you are not a hateful person
I hate to think that you could ever become hateful of me
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I was never whole in the first place, maybe that's where everything wrong came from.
As a child I was defined by my need to fit in, to not make my mother mad, to make my father smile. To dance when my grandfather asks me to, despite the ache in my belly, i swayed my hips with fervent enthusiasm, they love it especially when it seems like my ribs will break, and never did. It meant i was flexible and special. So despite the pain i learned to smile through it. I was pretty good. Even when i didn't want to, i sang the highest notes of my father's favorite song until my throat feels scratchy and my voice cracked. Now as an adult i can't sing without my throat closing up, it turns out i overused my voice as a child for the pleasure of my parents.
I have always been a performer, even as a little child.
As i grew up i learned to rearrange my pieces to fit the world without knowledge that i'm doing it, over and over, as many times as i have to. It's almost natural. Maybe that's why i was friends with everyone, feeling utterly alienated at the same time, i drift from friend groups to another, an expert at shifting my manner of talking as i play my part. My dread is having to watch every world i created collide, i can't face my different friend groups in the same room, i am a walking contradiction.
I don't exist outside the parts i play. If somebody asked me what my favourite song is, i will panic, 'it has to be something they would like too' i would think, so i will just say i have none, after all, i'm as much a stranger to myself as i am to everyone. Sometimes i don't even know if this sadness is my own, or a projection created to make me feel like a person. I'm a mirror, reflecting the light of everyone near me, i have no colour of my own, so when at last alone with no light to reflect, i am left with a resounding empty blackness. I am particles of the negative traits of my mother and my father, a glued up composition of the pretty pieces picked up from every person i wanted to be, patched with the hands of victor frankenstein. I am just other people, my skin made of grafts and stitches, my heart empty and full at the same time. pretending to be real, i am a masterful liar.
I never was whole. Maybe that's where everything wrong came from. Or maybe it's my desire to be loved that brought forth my impending downfall.
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people on quora learned the term covert narcissist and ain’t shut the fuck up since
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