An Explanation For My Social Dysfunction

Every time my neighbors slam their door
My heart beats a little faster
As I’m transported like twisted magic
Back to your feet acting upon the stair
And I pray you don’t come through the door
And the dread I feel
When I wake to dishes and laundry
Makes me worry irrationally
And you’re still there
When I hear those angry tones
I want to run
But there’s no escaping
Your far-reaching fucking fingers
And you’re always there
Over and over
And the vacuum
And the doublespeak
Your secret language
Of passive aggressive gas-lighting
Gradually wearing down my self-esteem
To lower than zero
You nullified me internally
And I still wake up scream-crying
Once in a while
And I still don’t know how to be angry
Or assert myself without feeling so pained
And I’m silent too often
And I’m still waiting for the hit
Because it’s always coming
And when your fists couldn’t reach me
You came after my health insurance
My credit score
Even my job security
You beat me down into thinking it was me
And you could love
My meth-addicted sibling so unconditionally
So it’s me
It’s me
It’s my fault
You tell me
Told me
Tell me
Yell at me
And I hate myself
Because I still can’t figure out how
To stop the vomiting
You embedded it in me so deeply
That hell is being alone
And hell is being alone surrounded by people
Who will always be a mystery
Your BPD imprinting
Means social cues
Will never be clear to me
And I’m always left wondering
If I’m imagining or reading someone’s subtext incorrectly
And I always leave people thinking I hate them
I appear aloof
Because really
I’m just a kicked dog cowering
In a puddle of my own piss
And self-worth


About Moly

Average, boring, self-involved human. Twitter: @CultOfCocktails Facebook:
This entry was posted in Poetry, Written, Written Work and tagged , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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