I wish that I could               Grasp onto some of that

Self-confidence, which so strongly seeps out of me,

Know how to harness it,

Instead of wondering where it comes from,

Wishing people might believe me when I said

that i am scared, and alone with my wretched thoughts

which only clone themselves, over and over

in twisted mutations of their original forms,

wishing they might believe me when I said

That I placed their needs above mine, that their

hurtful words are too unkind to

Not bother me, when every word i have ever spoken, 

is awoken in me each night, reminding me of

their wrongs,  and of mine, endless tv repeats of times

i want to forget, rather than letting me scrutinise

each detail through a lens of self-deprecation,

breaking the constructs that make up who I am.

I wish that they could feel

what i do, so that when I speak, scream, call,

Being myself over the top, as

Always,

that they knew

i am not confident in what i am doing,

or pursuing

or trying to,

because i am so lost i do not even

know who i am, or ever was, or will ever be,

And all you see is smiles and ridicules, which

fuel your perception of my self-confident self,

placing myself on a shelf above you.

It is all you see, so why should

i blame you, for still believing I am the 

Wild girl who has no grieves for the people she

affects with her infected self. Why

should I be confused at what you 

See through the window, when I give the 

perfomance that forms that judgement?

But I am  here, on a Saturday night, ignoring

the calls of the bottles by my bed,

which i leave, to remind  me they

don't need to be touched until

I say so. 

You know nothing of the choices I have made to get here,

In between these walls,  wondering what will become of me,

You know nothing of the voices which wonder

What happened,which still tell me to give up,

endlessly