Oh, look! An opportunity
To rip the shit right out of me
Quickly, quickly, take your chance!
Criticise me while you can!
Yes, I know that you are right
But I wasn't trying to fight
I never said that you were wrong
So WHY can't we just get along?!
Should I give you an award
For noticing that I am flawed?
I admit I'm not stick thin
But do you have to rub it in?
What do you plan to achieve
By chipping at my self-esteem?
Do you think self-directed hate
Will make me put less on my plate?
Good thing I'm becoming numb
Or off a tower I'd have jumped
You cut me down so frequently
It's losing its effect on me
But what really hurts like hell
Is not the nasty words you yell
I cannot deny the truth
The fact that I am just like you.
I think I'm going to go cut myself now. I wrote a similar poem re mothers where I compared myself to a jar of clay. I understand your pain. I can just hear yore mater saying that too. ERGH.
ReplyDeleteArnar I only just found all your comments. Don't cut yoreselph, my dere, phor that would make me very very sad. Is your mater-poem published on yore blog? And ugh, the OTHER Bob The Blog is awful!
ReplyDelete