4:26 am

I hate this time
It means I lost myself, again
I was consumed
By greed, by the chase

If I already hurt, then what's the harm? 
I'm consumed with pain, 
Now swapping one addiction for another

It doesn't mask, it doesn't relieve 
It buys time
I hate this time
It means I'm losing 
And I've never had a trophy 
And I'm used to acting, 
Entertaining....

Competing.

You, you gave me no choice
Making myself available to be judged
While dolled face, skin tight fabric, 
dance steps ingrained in my muscles
Terrified of going wrong as they peer.

Judging commences, scores are in
Who came to stare this time? 
I hear the knives from the mouths who made them
Grown woman, for I was an easy target
By mothers, for I was the runt of the pack
I get told to smile and perform, to ignore and allow
Pushed into the ring, by my own mother
And I would never quite win
I was a disappointment, 
I am no vessel for dream living for you I'm afraid,
Mother.
But there's no I in we, and we didn't have choices
You made yours, we (not me, this she) put on a show...
I was 6...

                
 15 was the same, no need to repeat

Rat-bag was the name she chose,
A joke, but top of the double pages list - no less.
It follows me, reminds me
That I was different 
That hurts.
I wasn't different 
My psychiatrist has said
That hurts. 
She wrote it in black and write, so it's true.
That hurt. 
I was normal in abnormal conditions 
Now I'm broken 
That hurts. 
Pills, no liquor 
Secret drawings with cards 
With powder
Just one more
That hurts. 

I'm shown love and care
I feel hurt
That hurts
I hurt.

I'm awake, 
And I hurt.

I die inside,
I hurt.

I want to be numb,
I can't. 

Constant torture and reminders.

I hate this time.

                         "Again?"

... Why not.

Copyright © Lauren Tilley | Year Posted 2024

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