You list my offenses,
Words marching in lines
From your lips,
Building a wall infront of me.
I try to push through, but I am grabbed
By hands of spite and thrown
To the ground, bruising gently,
Purple blossoms on my heart.
Over time, the wall grows taller,
And I believe. I am awful.
I am rude and hasty
And judgmental and hateful
And too opinionated and shameful
And dismissive and boring.
And little voices rise withing me,
Like noxious fumes deep in a mine
"You're not good enough.
You're stupid. You're fat. You're.."
A list even greater than those you read against me.
And I weep at the truth in them.
Yet I am quiet, the venom
Burning silently through veins of
A martyred soul, sliced to pieces
Int he hopes of appeasing you,
Of doing something right.
I try, redoubling my efforts
To climb the fortress of words
Built around my heart.