The world can suffocate on you quicker than you notice the constricting walls of betrayal berated by expectancy and hope.
Who reads what you got to say, I’m told— over and over, until the lips bleed and tongues flap ragged?
It’s funny to be told that by the people who never read you and yet have the most to say about your work. They know your worth better than you know it; undermining your brilliance because they think it’s pathetic.
I think that’s what is pathetic. Making you feel ready to take on the world in one second and the next slumped in a corner in your room, head buried in hands— sobbing. Sobbing; suppressed screams and unsettling chaos settles.
Adorned with a thick leather fur, I am oblivious and nonchalant to the words that pierce my armored heart; some penetrate, others ricochet off.
Ticked by the haters, a riptide of row; perpetual pulverisation, I wipe the sea of tears never to shed more for the people close to me choosing to gaslight me, hurt me, demoralise me and take away my strength. Never again?