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JadenPerhaps

Published: May 12, 2012

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Literature Text

Without a trace of thoughtlessness, I
Am being taught to hate myself like a
distance between love and war and thyself
Uselessness in an empty shell, open
disregarded, all the warning signs
If I can't become me, who is
me? Me?
Like little butterflies through the desert we
Starve on wrong, wrong, being told we are
wrong
and the mystery continues to
manifest itself through colourless prisms
white light, hanging, heart's
suffocation and emptiness to the rain forest
By and by we suffer
but you don't know that,
or is it
me? Me? Am I
supposed to know, or is this all
never to make sense, only to
never-endingly continue in silence and I am
lying to you, I am not alright, can you save
me? Me?
I will not stand, the hatred will bend me
and burrow into the uselessness
for you to a love, love
and war dies in a heart broken before it
it was made.

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Wrote this a few years ago for a friend of mine. The title refers to when women bind themselves to look more like men and less like women. It makes me sad that sometimes people hate themselves and their bodies so much.