This feeling
It isn’t just when I stop talking because no one is listening
It follows me
It’s with me
It is me
Not entirely me, but a part
And that part has a loud voice
It’s criticizing itself because oddly enough, it’s truly the only thing that knows everything about me. So it can gives criticism for something no one else can or will.
No one else is going to say shut up, and if they do \"it’s not coming from the same place\". No one is going to call me dumb, and if they do \"they’re even stupider\".
This part, this voice, has taken an odd role
It’ll hate me the hardest, unless someone doesn’t like me
Then all of a sudden it tries to protect me from the harsh elements, shielding me but in the process blinding me and shutting me out.
Sometimes it agrees with them though
Takes their words as truth, then makes it hurt on a deeper level.
I could say fuck this voice
But it kind of knows what it’s talking about
At my lowest, I’ll listen
At my highest, I’ll laugh at it
And somewhere in the middle I’ll give it the love it’s been missing
If it’s so full of hate that I keep putting into it like a piggy bank
So what if love doesn’t go there, I’ll make it go there
Lost cause or not
I’ll change it
All the profane names that stab me will no longer be a kitchen knife but a spoon
It’s going to take patience
And I’m going to be mostly alone
For no one else can understand this part of me
Because it’s entire existence stems from
Every single thing I’ve done, said, experienced, tried, dreamed about, feared, loved, hidden, ran from, and been.
It is my own flesh and blood.
.t.b.