Unfiltered.

Even though I'm sure you'd disagree,
I feel we're headed back to square one,
sharing joys, never having them be enough.
I show up, but for what reason?
This discomfort doesn't always dissipate,
and when it does, it never stays gone long.
I'm tired of writing, tired of your questions,
tired of trying to change the way I see life.
You said you want me to get better,
and that just feels like I'll be sick forever.
There's no one to comfort me
when I need it the most.
There's no one who can offer to hold me,
wordlessly, when I'm unable to move.
At least you have that.
My vulnerability leads me nowhere.
I am raw - picked apart - bloody remains.
And the truth is, no one can change the
way I view myself except me.
But can't you see?
I don't have the lasting strength.
I'm conflicted by all the contradictions,
the way I try even when begging to die.
I need to know you won't give up on me,
the way I always do on myself.