Even the good ones aren’t all that good.
The ones close do not understand;
They disappoint, they misunderstand;
They completely crush me with their words.
They ignore my heart and deject—all so distant.
They tell me all this, what’s inside, isn’t real,
That reality is heavy and must be accepted to survive.
They break me without even realizing it.
As if…
As if dreaming can’t be, couldn’t exist;
As if this bleakness wasn’t excruciatingly crushing;
As if my will to live was strong enough to stomach them.
But I choose to be—whatever that entails.
And I die as soon as I can no longer:
This is the one and only thing
That I will hold onto until the end.
I feel—I fear—I will forever be rejected,
Especially by those I treasure most,
Until they push me away or I disappear.
I yearn to be understood by them,
How I wish someone would.
This story is part of a collection of poems, short stories and introspective reflections of my creation, called “Grimoire of a Weirdo”.