A Disease

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
Poetry.

Submitted: July 23, 2011

A A A | A A A

Submitted: July 23, 2011

A A A

A A A


So confused, so miserable,
just really, really wanting to disappear.
It's almost as if she's stretched out
as thin as she's able to go --
figuratively speaking, of course.
For that to be literal would be a blessing.
Alas, her body is cursed.
A sickening feeling, one that won't go away,
as much as she wishes it would.
Not to mention, a feeling of constant embarrassment
for simply being herself.
She doesn't quite understand why she has no self-worth.
Then again, she hasn't killed herself yet.
That's got to count for something, right?
She was never able to stand up for herself
She got crushed in a heartbeat, every time
so what was the point of trying anymore?
Sob story? Try walking in her shoes.
The awkwardness is just resting in the back of her head;
it seems to come out more often than it should.
She wonders when she'll feel comfortable in her own skin.
So many open wounds, ones that were never taken care of,
what a lovely addiction that was.
Who knew one could be so disgusted with oneself?
She had hoped the duration of these feelings would be temporary.
Optimism -- it's such a joke sometimes.
Ah, to take one look inside her head,
it'd be enough to depress anyone.
And to think this might not have happened
if it weren't for another occurance when she was small.
Then again, maybe it still would have?
So much for being happy
or even hoping for the possibility again.


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