1

Here I am,
Just slicing open pieces of flesh
Rooting around beneath the skin
Searching for something fascinating for you to examine
And expose to the cruel and suffocating air of judgment.
Here you are
Served on a silver platter:
Little pieces of my pain.
To you they are morbidly enjoyable
To me, just morbid.
But when did you ever care about what was damaging?
You smother everything in words,
Choking the life out of true emotion
And crippling your ability to see me,
As I am
As I want you to see me
What is left of me are the pieces between the holes
That you have forced me to burrow
That is all I have left
It is mine and you can’t have it.