Poem Jan 2

I don't want to die alone
But I can't live with you.
Where does that leave me
If I can't start over, as well.

I guess I'll just get buried alive
Smothered by my own insecurities.

poem jan 1st

For as long as I can remember
I have always been "clever"
Always held the potential to be greater
Always held up to the light
To be examined
To be exhaulted
To radiate greatness

A time came that the light became to bright
So I created
A hollowed out replica
Of what everyone wanted to see
Jovial, good-natured,
And above all, clever
This shell shielded me
As I created a cage
To ward off
Further examination
In this cage,
I was able to throw myself
Against the walls
To remind myself
To feel
To cry
To let sadness rule

I built my cage
To be me
To choke on my worthlessness
To bath in my own loneliness
I made its exterior bright and bubbly
So no one could hear
The pained screams
The sickening blows
As I slam myself against my cell
Cracking every bone
Marring each layer of skin
Over And Over

The cycle hasn't ended
And I fear it never will

Dear

You don't want me. You never did. I was the filler. I was the replacement you could hold when you missed her. And now that we are both here I am tolerated. I can't even tell you this because you will laugh. You will share a moment at my expense with your favorite girl. I will never be as fit as her. I will never have the experiences you both share. As you have said, we are not the same. I am not yours. The tragedy is it took me this long to see it. We were not meant for each other. You belong with her. I belong.....alone.  You deserve happiness. And if I could I would wipe the memory of me from you. Instead, when I cross your mind, you get a bitter taste in your mouth. I am so sorry that I did this to you. And to her. I hope in time you will forgive and forget.

Fat

You're a beautiful girl, just fat
Fat.
I never thought I would ever live this long
Even now I get angry
I thought I would die at 18, 20, 25
I kept hoping and praying that I would be taken in my sleep.
Obviously, I never did.
Doesn't mean I don't still hope.
I have built up my tolerance and walls
But it doesn't help
Fat still cuts through it all
Leaving behind holes for my soul to seep through.
So maybe when I die
Someday soon
Maybe I will make a gelatinous, ugly corpse
Or maybe a shrunken, hollow one
Either way, I will be empty inside when go