Elegy for Myself

Ode to the girl that died inside
Of me
My best friend tells me to conjure
Up her dead soul and shake hands
With her
But it would be like misery is
shaking hands with sunshine and flowers
How odd
The boy in my  fourth grade said
That to my fingers
For they were beautifully uneven
Uneven, the scale of joy and despair
In my life has always been that way
Always a little too much sorrow
Always a little less moments of bliss
My father never knocks and barges into
My room,
He tells me to open the window
And I think of something else
I hear something else
My heart races and my brain dysfunctions
No I tell him
No, the two letters word that has always
Been caged inside my mouth
I have always confused love and abuse
For I remember my father abusing my mother
And telling me he does it out of love
Out of love? I question myself?
Does that mean the man I marry
Can hit me and tells me he did that
Out of love?
A mere phenomenon that exists
Amongst the two very mortals
For as long as the lifespan of a butterfly
I carry these emotions locked up
Inside of me like a gernade waiting
To burst open
My friend showed me a picture of
A model and said we boys like girls
With such bodies
Since then, I’ve been skipping meals
For someone once told me I’m fat
The word so obnoxious and disrespectful
For a girl than the word bitch
I have always been a woman with
A fragile heart and an ugly laugh
Who has a facade of a content
Happy joyous girl
And yet from the inside the dead girl within
Me moves and screams and hurt
She hurt and wants me to bury her
But I myself am a graveyard of
Unfulfilled dreams and uncherished
Souls, forgotten and unloved
Maybe this is why I might never
Believe the boy who tells me my
Hands are beautiful
Maybe this is why I will
Always say yes instead of No
and do the things I hate
Maybe this is why I may never
Fall in love with the perosn
I marry
And maybe, just maybe this
Is why I would let people call me
A bitch rather than fat
And maybe this is why
I’ll always be a sad poet
Trapped inside this body
Always wanting to be
A different person
Every day

Poetry Slam: 
This poem is about: 
Our world


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