I’ve Been Wrong Before, But Not About This

Over and over and over and over,

constant panic and constant dread,

nauseating, and I wish I didn’t care

about losing anyone at all.

Unsafe.

What’s the point if they’ll all leave anyways?

Laugh and smile, don’t show the real you.

Laugh and smile like that isn’t the real you.

Are we okay?

Did I do something wrong?

Are you mad at me?

Did I make you uncomfortable?

Am I good enough?

Am I too much?

I’m sorry.

I’m so sorry.

I’m sorry for saying sorry too much.

Suppress it.

Confine it.

Lock it away until you can’t hear it anymore,

until you forget it’s you,

until the sobs and pleas become

security built on false memories.

Choke on it.

Over and over and over and over,

shut down and space out,

over and over and over and over,

slip into fabricated apathy.

Unsafe.

What’s the point if they’ll all leave anyways?

Maybe if I make myself easier to hold

I won’t hear every shift in every voice

and feel it in my teeth.

Are we okay?

Did I do something wrong?

Are you mad at me?

Did I make you uncomfortable?

Am I good enough?

Am I too much?

I’m sorry.

I’m so sorry.

I’m sorry for saying sorry too much.

Suppress it.

Confine it.

Lock it away until you can’t hear it anymore,

until you forget it’s you,

until the sobs and pleas become

security built on false memories.

Choke on it.

Over and over and over and over.

Over and over and over and over.

Shut down.

Space out.

Slip into fabricated apathy.