I am terrible at promises.
I am a liar and a fool.
I am weak and I am maddening.
I am fearful and I am broken.
I am hopeless and I am miserable.
I think of myself as unloved, unlovable, unknowable.

If you really knew me…
If you knew the real me…
If I could be honest…

But no one wants that.
No one wants honesty.
They want the neat little package.
They don’t want messy.
They don’t want miserable.
They don’t want sad.
They don’t want broken.

This isn’t Hollywood,
and I’m not your
Nobody wants something
already broken.
There isn’t enough glue
to mend this.
Maybe I should keep
breaking myself
until I’m only dust
and then I can either
blow away
make myself
into something entirely new.

About Catastrophe Jones

Wretched word-goblin with enough interests that they're not particularly awesome at any of them. Terrible self-esteem and yet prone to hilarious bouts of hubris. Full of the worst flavors of self-awareness. Owns far too many craft supplies. Will sing to you at the slightest provocation.
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