I like to break shit:
Rip the pictures in half,
Mangle the words into lies,
Stomp out the fires you build and
Set flame to the things you never pictured as ash
I really like to break shit:
Punch the walls,
Fracture my knuckles,
And get pissed when you try to clean the wounds
I’ll throw the chairs out the window,
Smash every dish in your kitchen,
And wash it all away with strong brandy and rusty screws
I’ll rip down the curtains, stitch them into fabric coffins
(to bury, of course, anything you might still love about me),
Break every mirror to get seven times the seven years,
And hide what remains of my affections for you in the ugly fucking couch cushions.
I’ll scream at you when you hurt me:
Claw you with fingernails
Bite your shoulder,
Choke you, even
Although how I tell the difference between the pain caused by
You and the pain caused by
Me is
Questionable
…I hate breaking things
I go get therapy
I get on my anti-crazy meds
I try to build friendships (some BS about social supports being beneficial)
And take art classes and get an esa and practice daily affirmations
[I AM beautiful. I AM capable of change. I AM the motherfucking best.]
But at the end of the day, I just hate being the only broken thing in the room
And I refuse to believe that you love me until you see how hideous and cruel I really am
So I’ll keep breaking your shit and daring you to hate me
Until you leave and I
am proven right