–you’ve been holding your breath for too long
accept the feeling
accept the loss of control
it’s not yours to worry about anymore
no more wondering
no more banging and scratching on the door
let go of the handle
turn around and see what you’ve been missing out
you see? you’ve made it to a new place now and you can finally rest,
turn away from that door, take a look around
this is it, this is your new home,
this is closure
I pray that I’m wrong about you
always prayin I’m wrong about you
every time I left
and every time I came back
Every time you come back around
I think maybe I was wrong
but then you shed a light on the truth that I hate
I don’t want to wait
I don’t want to wait
but here I am still waiting
waiting/hoping/begging to be wrong
It’s not a coincidence that every time you come around I put myself in a box and keep everyone out
I shut down and hide away.
But it’s only from you that I need to hide.
You’re the monster who always makes me feel small. Makes me doubt myself and build my walls
When I let you in. I keep everyone out.
Start feeling like the monster myself
You are the wickedest form
Disguising yourself as love when it’s only evils you create and fear that you instil
You come near and I shrink
I become small
I become moldable. Allowing you to make me into whatever you see best. Or whatever you make me believe. Whatever you want me to see
The monsters are always the ones you least suspect
But I’ve let you climb into my sheets and into my head. One too many times now. Now I know your layout. I know the roads and paths that make up your map. I know who you are.
I see behind your beautiful brown eyes and into your dark soul
Don’t burry yourself in your own grave with all that guilt and shame.
If you slipped into the hole just try and climb out slow. Don’t stay in and let gravity win.
Don’t wait till you’re too weak to climb out or too scared to cry for help.
That guilt and shame is an awful mix and it’s so easy to get burried by it. So try and get out before the dirt hits.
It’s hard to explain to people who don’t experience it themselves.
To feel a sense of accomplishment from going outside to walk the dog, or mustering up the courage get your nails done. The effort it takes some days to get out bed. How you get ready to go out but then can’t leave the house. Or how one day you wake up and you can’t go into work. And you can’t call cause you don’t know what to say. You lose jobs to it. You ignore the texts from everyone. They go from “Hey, where are you? to genuine concern and worry, until they turn to anger. And then you feel even worse. They say things like “Are you okay? this isn’t like you”.
But it is like me.
It’s just sometimes it’s worse. Sometimes I can contain it better and put it to the side; sometimes it eats me up whole and leaves behind a fragile body curled up in the bed staring at the wall.