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
manicpixiedreamgirl.
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
or
make myself
into something entirely new.
