Megan Devon Poet Blank verse

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.

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Allan Koven October 16, 2013 at 8:20 PM Megan, if sadness could be expressed in words, your poem would do it. Emotionally true and honest. It was a good write. Allan

Arthur Vaso October 5, 2013 at 7:32 PM That is one sad poem, but well expressed, and I hope you will enjoy soup here, and see that beauty is measured many different ways, and that you are indeed a beautiful person. Demons can always be defeated.