Self Wielded
Equal in Different Ways
You cling to me, little hands fisted into anything you can wrap them around. Your body trembles, quivers, and shakes. You're afraid, you're in pain, you're upset, you're lost. You're broken; you always have been. I hold you to me, almost numbly, but only because I know that's all you can handle, all you think you deserve- if even.
I can even feel the tightness of your chest, all of your innards clenched upon themselves as your ribs begin to collapse. You're in so much pain, and you have nothing to show for it besides your tears. "Tell me I'm pathetic, tell me I'm weak. I need it please. I need it." You plead, forehead against my breast bone, too ashamed of yourself to meet my eyes. "You understand don't you? You know what I'm asking for..." And I do, I know that that is the only thing you can bear to understand. That self hate, self loathing. The only emotions you can stand to feel. It's- "Disgusting, I'm disgusting, pathetic, please tell me."
I've been there, I've felt those things, that numbness and searing pain, both of them taking you over. And yet, I can't tell you those things. I've heard them, begged silently for them and regretted it later. Does that make me above you or below you? You at least have the gall (or is it the cowardice?) to vocalize these things.
"I do understand, we know the same things. I've been there, been betrayed and desecrated. Yours was worse, you don't deserve this." I say it and I mean it, you were merely a child, too young to say no, yet just old enough to understand. It broke you, recreated you, taught you to wear masks of arrogance and hate.You continued as if nothing happened, hiding for all these years from others what they should not have to bear. Your tears are lonely and hateful, desperate releases let loose in the silent cataclysms of your bed, your shower, your bath. The only times you can feel alone.
Your reddened eyes meet mine, glossed and horrified. Your chapped mouth works desperately before you can speak, "No!" You shake your head furiously, "No no no no. Yours was just as bad, no, I do not deserve pity. No."I try to protest and you relent, "We understand it, we are equal in different ways."
"You are beautiful, strong, proud." I whisper, sharing secrets that you vehemently deny.Your heart clenches and you sob dry sounds, "It hurts. It hurts." I console you, murmuring soft "I know's" into your ear.
"Please, just tell me how pathetic I am. I need to hear it. I need to believe what I already know."The thing is, you don't know. This isn't weakness, it can't be.
I can even feel the tightness of your chest, all of your innards clenched upon themselves as your ribs begin to collapse. You're in so much pain, and you have nothing to show for it besides your tears. "Tell me I'm pathetic, tell me I'm weak. I need it please. I need it." You plead, forehead against my breast bone, too ashamed of yourself to meet my eyes. "You understand don't you? You know what I'm asking for..." And I do, I know that that is the only thing you can bear to understand. That self hate, self loathing. The only emotions you can stand to feel. It's- "Disgusting, I'm disgusting, pathetic, please tell me."
I've been there, I've felt those things, that numbness and searing pain, both of them taking you over. And yet, I can't tell you those things. I've heard them, begged silently for them and regretted it later. Does that make me above you or below you? You at least have the gall (or is it the cowardice?) to vocalize these things.
"I do understand, we know the same things. I've been there, been betrayed and desecrated. Yours was worse, you don't deserve this." I say it and I mean it, you were merely a child, too young to say no, yet just old enough to understand. It broke you, recreated you, taught you to wear masks of arrogance and hate.You continued as if nothing happened, hiding for all these years from others what they should not have to bear. Your tears are lonely and hateful, desperate releases let loose in the silent cataclysms of your bed, your shower, your bath. The only times you can feel alone.
Your reddened eyes meet mine, glossed and horrified. Your chapped mouth works desperately before you can speak, "No!" You shake your head furiously, "No no no no. Yours was just as bad, no, I do not deserve pity. No."I try to protest and you relent, "We understand it, we are equal in different ways."
"You are beautiful, strong, proud." I whisper, sharing secrets that you vehemently deny.Your heart clenches and you sob dry sounds, "It hurts. It hurts." I console you, murmuring soft "I know's" into your ear.
"Please, just tell me how pathetic I am. I need to hear it. I need to believe what I already know."The thing is, you don't know. This isn't weakness, it can't be.