I was once told to never give up
and follow my heart
and dream big things
and be the best
and keep my head high
and strive for perfection,
then I saw the world and I got older
and my innocence was ripped from me,
my virtue was torn from me,
my morality was pried from my fingers.
All I had was myself
and my relentless, unabating thoughts of disapproval and disapprobation.
I can’t unsee what I saw.
I can’t undo what I did.
I can’t stop what I’m doing.
I’ve watched bodies come together in the worst way possible,
in a sickening way.
I’m ashamed of myself and I just want to go back to the day it all started,
to the day I became a woman in the sixth grade,
the day I built my wall,
the day I wrote my façade into existence,
the day I became a good liar.
But I can’t.
I can only recover and stop myself
because what’s the point of a high
if it only drags me lower.