a reason or two or one sixty-three

–

I feel really depressed.

Because I feel unloved.

I want to buy back my love.

So I will send you flowers, hoping every leaf buys me a day, or an hour.

I will write you letters, hoping every word, buys me a chance,

To be loved again by you.

Is it my fault?

That I am unworthy of your love?

Or do you love me, as you say you do, and I am flawed in my thinking?

How can I trust you, after you’ve broken me,

Many times, ago?

How can I trust myself,

When I’ve broken many strings, and loves, before?

How can I ever know, that I can love again, or be loved,

If I don’t love myself, anymore?

I feel weak,

A weakness like shattered glass, I see my reflection in.

I don’t know that I want to live again.

A weakness that makes me want to pull by a thread,

So hard, until it unclasps, from life.

I want to let go, but I am too weak.

I am too weak to take action, to be loved, to believe.

I embarrass myself, with my thoughts.

My head is not a friendly place right now.

I am afraid, to tell anyone, lest they stop loving me.

It’s embarrassing. It’s not nice. It’s not a lovable characteristic.

My victimhood is swallowing me,

Sabotaging my relationships,

Overtaking my life as though I stood on a mountain that’s split open and engulfed me.

I feel trapped in a cage, in the middle of the Gulf, below the water’s surface.

I try to speak, but my words fail me.

The world drowns me,

My voice unheard.

My only refuge is sleep.

But even then, I wake up thirsty, throat dry, nightmares regular.

I don’t wish to be a downer.

I want to be loved.