I am an enigma; forever stepping in front of mirrors attempting to angle myself in the perfect position to be loved; always making myself smaller than I seem in order to be seen. The mirror never minimises though; only my self worth and the infallible expansion of the earth and it’s distorted heart; the murderous, evil hands that trench through my body and pick me apart. None of the pieces are beautiful.

I am a snake, slipping myself in and out of places that I do not belong; constantly praying to find my one true home, yet forever stuck in a sea of gold and I am always the rock at the bottom; worthless, wretched, ruined and worn through - but was there really anything to wear? Some people are simply rags; soaking up everyone’s water in an attempt to find their own; thoroughly wrung out and yet the droplets of clarity still transfigure to blood.

I am a sore thumb in a room of perfectly perched fingers and my nail beds are dirt-filled from digging after treasure. Shovel after shovel, the removal of gloves, raw red and blistered - I am still digging to find mine; to understand what love I should reciprocate in exchange for the work of my hands. X-marks the spot is written on everyone else’s map but mine.

Nobody ever tells you about the dark side of the world; the eclipse that drips in front of the light in your life and will never unfurl; there is no bone clad armour to protect you from this; and the indent on your bruised peach heart will never ever drip golden, always devastatingly red. 

i am so disgustingly human

/ rebekah