Poem: Suffering of the Mind


For the times I did not connect,

I chewed my nails,

creating blood at the corners of my fingers.

It hurt me, but I kept going,

kept chewing something away,

for what I knew was anxiety created within me

from a lack of understanding

of me in the world.

It wasn’t empty space I feared,

it was what I had to fill

in it’s place,

that was full of detachment to meaning.

The emphasis was on self doubt

and loathing,

gnawing at me with a capital G,

and the more I wanted it get rid of it,

the more the impact of it grew.

I was never the person

others imagined me to be,

cutting my self worth down with each

misunderstanding seen as a deception.

Observed as an abnormality,

there was never a good enough explanation

for those looking at me

through the glass windows.

When my time comes,

my legacy will be half in actuality,

and the rest split into tiny slices

on a pie chart,

not knowing what they represent,

for it wasn’t decided upon when I was awake.

Years will grow into decades,

and centuries later I will be forgotten,

with those alive understanding

the reality of living in ambiguity

among strangers.


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