compost

i don’t think i ever will
get over it,
anything

i think i have egg shells under my eyes,
rotten rubbish piling up behind them.

and i want to change,
got told to change something (anything)
and i think i tried to fix me

i wish i didn’t collect
everything ever said to me (all bad)
and write it into my empty spaces

i wish i wasn’t filled with compost anymore

 

Realising

i’m realising that i sleep better with a belly full of poison 

than i ever have with a smile on my face

and that the only second look I’ve ever gotten was from myself, 

accidentally catching myself in the mirror 

and that people are trained to say what you need them to

and that nothing ends up the way they say it will. not ever.

now

the people who knew me know me differently now

and i have this sour taste in my throat that tastes a lot like hate 

but i found salt burning my cheeks again the other night, the same question breaking my heart

i wonder if you would know me how you did

if you would want to

if you ever really tried anyway