Do you ever want to let go?

Just take off and fly?

Let go of the chains binding you

to the flesh 

to the bone

to the blood

you wish was never there?

"Be grateful!" 

they say.

"Take care of this body, 

it's the only one you get!"

But I never asked for it.

Why should I love what 

I

Never

Wanted?

I didn't ask for these eyes,

trained to look away

from what they are not supposed to see.

I didn't ask for this heart, 

tamed to put out the fire

that threatens to burn everyone 

around me.

I didn't ask for this mouth, 

taught to sew itself shut 

with a cracked tongue

and bloody teeth.

Why should I be grateful

for what I was given,

if I can't forget what was taken away?

The smile,

letting the lights from 

a different world glow.

The laugh,

harboring the deepest of my emotions

I never knew I wasn't allowed to show.

The hands,

never pressing the cold steel

to my skin.

This skin that I did not ask for.

The bones,

never breaking beneath the stones

I stacked on my shoulders.

There were no stones, no steel, no marks,

no blood, no scars.

There was no demon 

eating the walls

of my mind,

there was no blacksmith

sharpening the smooth edges

of my soul.

There was no horror

or pain

or hatred

or heartbreak.

And my wings?

They were not broken.

They were silky white with the innocence 

I never knew not to let go of.

My flesh?

It was not marked.

It was flawless and pristine

with the love I unknowingly gave it.

The love it will never see again. 

We are taught to be pure:

do not let your friends hurt you,

do not repeat your parents' mistakes,

do not let this life break you.

But how?

How do you want me to be happy?

How the f**k am I supposed to be "okay?"

Do you know what that word means?

Do you know that it has never

been used in the way it was created?

Have you not learned that it covers

the truths we will never let ourselves see?

It is a lie.

You really think I'm okay?

You really think I'm fine?

That's pathetic.

Can you not see what is so clearly

right in front of you?

My shaking hands?

My plastic smile?

My frosted glass eyes, 

windows to the soul I will never 

let you see?

Don't you notice my breaths?

Can't you tell they are forced?

I am faking it.

They come and go in a steady rhythm 

I have taught myself,

the metronome to the lie I have memorized.

Is that so hard to believe?

That it's all fake?

I don't want to be here.

I didn't ask for this pain.

What are you, sadistic?

Do you like seeing me die slowly?

Do you find comfort in 

my life fading away?

You are naive.

You are swallowing the lies

this world is force-feeding you,

and you say "thank you"

when the sweet taste brushes your lips.

What if I told you it was poison?

What if I showed you 

the dead bodies in my soul?

If I let you see inside my sewn mouth,

do you know what would be hiding?

A graveyard.

A mausoleum of mutilated hopes

and tortured dreams.

Caskets would line the walls,

holding the perfectly preserved memories

I still cannot kill.

Holding the twisted, rotten remains 

of the lies they fed me 

with a silver spoon

and a golden smile.

Or would you only see green fields

dotted with sheep as white

as your "untainted, innocent soul?" 

Would you see the blue sky,

the calm waters,

the deep moon

you want to see?

Would you break your glasses,

tear out your eyes,

only so you didn't have to see the truth?

Because it's not pretty.

But it's mine.

It's my story,

my pain,

my past.

It's my shattered heart,

my twisted mind.

My cracked soul

like the sidewalk you tread,

unaware of the forsaken flowers

you are crushing 

beneath the soles

of your feet.

Like the darkened dreams 

you are crushing

beneath the crowns of your teeth,

the words you chew up 

and spit back out

before they are forced 

down my throat.

This is what you do,

this is who you are.

You are an artist

who creates 

cheap knockoffs of our lives,

sad ripoffs of our pain.

You are a coward 

who runs from 

the real,

the here,

the now,

all because you can't stomach

the everything.

You are a gravedigger

who buries the bodies

and crushes the lives

you don't want to see.

You are an iron fist around my throat,

silencing my words

and choking me 

on my own tongue.

But I will not be silent.

This is my life,

this is my pain,

this is my story.

This life I live may be 

a cracked sidewalk,

but it is mine.

And I am not just another flower

for you to grind to dust

under your boot.