Tuesday, September 20, 2011

what am i really fighting for anymore?
is it me?
consistently so constantly only me?
or these chains that bind me?
though i do suppose that is a part of me.
my insecurities are like boulders on my feet.
what am i really fighting for anymore?
is it you?
with your pride you fly so high.
can you see us all from where you are sitting?
i will polish your pedestal you rest your feet on.
i will use the sleeve of my cardigan,
and my very breathe to fog the surface.
wipe away your grimace.
if only i could.
can you see me from where you are sitting?
here i am, i have got my heart in my hands.
blood is collecting in my palms
like the sweaty hands of a performer backstage.
we are alike, you see, in our insecurity, the performer and i.
failure seems unavoidable.
we wear confidence only as a mask,
never as our own flesh.
it doesn't flow in our veins the way it does through yours.
the anxiety overwhelms the mind
while positive thinking is simply left behind.
you laugh at me,
you say i am being dramatic.
tears stain my cheek and you're still laughing.
i am screaming things i don't mean
and you're still laughing.
what am i really fighting for anymore if you're not fighting too?
the implication has been made,
right on time, though i almost hoped you would forget.
it's me i am fighting so it seems.
alone with blood on my hands and fucked up dreams.

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