My Demons
Not even really that much of a poem, I don't even know what to call it. I don't care..
I want to turn up the music loud enough to satisfy,
but the closest I could get to drowning out the voices in my head is a blown pair of earbuds.
I want to be happy with myself,
but the closest I could get is feeling publicly presentable with a face caked with makeup.
I want to feel like I'm worth something,
but the closest I could get is bloody arms and thighs, and tear-stained pillows.
I want to feel skinny,
but the closest I could get is crying on a scale.
I'm sick of feeling like nothing will ever get better.
I'm sick of feeling like I hold everyone back.
I'm sick of feeling like everyone would be better if I were dead.
Copyright © Megan Devon | Year Posted 2013
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