It's almost always the same scenario
razor in the bathroom
falling asleep in a puddle of my own blood
Does this surprise you?
Here's another thing:
I an not an optimistic person.
I'm the definition of a pessimist,
but I use smiling as a defense mechanism
so people think I'm happy
so I seem more approachable.
90% of the time I'm smiling,
I'm not happy.
You should know that.
I'm not far from suicidal.
Sometimes I want to.
Sometimes.
But would it really be that hard
to push that sometimes into a most times?
Would you care if I did?
And before you defensively answer "Yes, of course!!!! Why would you even blah blah blah",
Just think about it.
No, really. Think harder.
When I'm with you I'm not really there.
You've been hanging out with this alternate version of me
this 2.0 Alyssa I made out of
expectations I once failed to get right
so many years ago
maybe even months ago
weeks ago
days ago.
I am still an eight year old girl who's afraid of her father.
I am this sad depressed
little girl that's stuck under a rock.
The rest of the world is about four years ahead
And my screams have turned into yells
and those into cries
and those into whispers.
I stopped entirely when I got here.
I've started to pretend that I'm not even hurt at all,
but the thing with that, is that everyone else is four years ahead,
and people keep passing me by.
And I wave with this rock on my legs,
flies buzzing around it,
picking at my dead flesh,
and I say:
Hey, how's it going?
and this rock,
this rock is everything I could never do right for my father
everything the kids in elementary school judged me for
it is my fear of loud noises because my dad would slam doors when he was mad
it's the quietness of my voice because when I would even laugh too loud around my father he'd yell at me and say "Shut the fuck up".
It's my fear of failing because I want good grades so maybe my dad would like me a little more.
It's to please everyone I don't have a chance with,
to seem more approachable.
I'm tired of this goddamn rock on my legs.
I'm tired of people seeing me hurt, but because I pretend to be okay, it just slips their fucking minds.
I'm so tired of this.
I am so tired.
I am this sad depressed
little girl that's stuck under a rock.
The rest of the world is about four years ahead
And my screams have turned into yells
and those into cries
and those into whispers.
I stopped entirely when I got here.
I've started to pretend that I'm not even hurt at all,
but the thing with that, is that everyone else is four years ahead,
and people keep passing me by.
And I wave with this rock on my legs,
flies buzzing around it,
picking at my dead flesh,
and I say:
Hey, how's it going?
and this rock,
this rock is everything I could never do right for my father
everything the kids in elementary school judged me for
it is my fear of loud noises because my dad would slam doors when he was mad
it's the quietness of my voice because when I would even laugh too loud around my father he'd yell at me and say "Shut the fuck up".
It's my fear of failing because I want good grades so maybe my dad would like me a little more.
It's to please everyone I don't have a chance with,
to seem more approachable.
I'm tired of this goddamn rock on my legs.
I'm tired of people seeing me hurt, but because I pretend to be okay, it just slips their fucking minds.
I'm so tired of this.
I am so tired.
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