The second of those crayon drawings I did in the days following my last therapy session. Of the bunch, this was the most surprising. I wrote the lines below several months ago, thinking about the people around me not knowing who I really am/what I do and have done in the past. I often think I don’t deserve for anyone to care and don’t understand why if they decide to care. To even weigh such a decision seems ridiculous, because of how little good is left from what I was.
At Corners of the Sky
A soft whisper in darkness once met.
You reach and call to me
In view of the edge,
Innocently unaware I have followed through.
And now I sneak the in-between
Behind the rise of a drop beneath
I witness my dearest circle round,
Lost in search through a deadened world
For their pet, never to be found.
The scattered pieces they meant to me…
Part of the old chore, as they suffer no more now
My burdensome role –
A disregarding soul, bled cold by its hatred
For the whole.
Rot slithered about my grin.
I said it forever far too sweet,
Yet they all had failed to learn
Never trust when I agree.
Still, never quite forgotten or given up…
These attachments of blood, a weak watery red
For all my life I neglected the
Willingness of their love.
I have turned away and withhold my own
Far enough from.
The small things I
Treat toward dim corners of my sky.
How I do wish they knew
They don’t deserve to be mine…
I have a part time job now. Packaging cookies. If I can handle it a month I will have exceeded my own expectations and may reconsider all that I put myself through for punishment. This is the very beginning again and I don’t want another.