The Me I Don’t Know

What is happening to me?

What has happened to me?

What is going to happen to me?

What about me?

The me, even I don’t know.

The me that has been bent, broken, contorted, perverted, twisted,

Changed.

I can’t seem to admit the nasty truths to myself.

I’m falling apart, I know it.

I feel myself slipping away,

the control slithering away.

I’m aware of the panic building deep inside me.

The pressure sits in my chest,

But it’s not bad enough.

I’m not wheezing or gasping for air;

It’s just hard.

I think that’s the story of my life: not enough,

Not good enough,

Not bad enough,

Not sick enough,

Not well enough,

Not smart enough,

Not dumb enough.

I’m too much for the less; I’m too less for the great.

I’m too bad for the good, too good for the bad,

Too well for the sick, too sick for the well,

Too dumb for the smart, too smart for the dumb.

So I crack, push, squash, pull anything to fit anywhere.

I know what the trigger is to my panic;

I can identify it,

Articulate it.

So surely that means I’m not actually panicking.

 

I know what the trigger is,

The root cause,

I should do something about it.

But I don’t know

if I want to do something about it.

I don’t know how to fix it,

But what if I didn’t want to fix it?

What if I wanted to be comforted?

I think that’s all I want.

 

The Turning Point

My submission turned to rebellion

My kindness turned into aggression

My forgiveness turned into revenge

The abuse turned an innocent girl

Into an angry woman

The Sovereign Fire

I tell myself that

I am not theirs to pose,

To touch,

To sell.

That I’m not a body to brand

Or a face a frame.

That I won’t smile

While they carve pieces off me.

That I am not their fantasy.

I am not their product.

I’m a person.

And I belong

To no one

But me.

They’ll know exactly what I mean

When I say

I am done being beautiful.

I am done being loved.

I am not there to be admired.

I’m here to burn.