They want the scars on my skin to become the words on the page.

I woke up knowing that I would never be enough,

That I could try, I could struggle

But I would never win.

No one would ever want me

I was born inherently unworthy

Left empty on purpose to never be filled

To search and scrape inside myself for asylum and find

Nothing.

To break at the hands and fists of others

Searching for some kind of reason

I will never find.

They sent me to create what they wanted

Left me with this desire to write

But is the pain worth the process?

Did I starve myself for years to give you something to analyze?

I look for myself on the page because it’s the only chance I have but

I’m not there.

Only the bits and broken pieces that can be formed into words

Not the feelings, not the hurt, not the emptiness I feel day after day

How can you express that?

How can you share your loneliness with anyone except the darkness

That you drown in

When the only fuel is fire but the rain will put you out.

Where do you go?

What star do you follow when everything you see is black

How can you let someone love you when you know you’re not worth it?

How can you give yourself to someone when there is nothing to give

You carry these broken shards of self around in a sack

Terrified to offer anyone a piece because you’ve got no blood left to bleed

How

Do you even begin to apologize to your parents

Or is it their fault?

How can you know exactly where you are and be so lost you feel trapped

Trapped in the very world that tells you

Write.