Dysphoric
This skin a phantom. A memory of a typo.
A sentence in a book misplaced, Tried to be erased.
My chest tied down with ball and chain. A weight that only lightens with struggles to breathe and bruised ribs.
Then, only then, can I breathe.
"She". Daggers slip from their tongue, piercing my heavy chest deep into my core, as ghost blood pours.
"She". Red hot bullets burning into me and out they leave with my life.
A face not fitting of me but of who you demand me to be.
The lace you crammed my body in still scratches and pokes.
Digs into my soul and leaves eternal scars.
You prod and poke, to paint my nails and braid my hai. Dress me in pink and watch me bleed. Wrap me in in lace and watch me suffocate.
No I am not lost or confused, I am not looking for your attention when I fear the spotlight. I'm not looking to be a special snowflake or even for your validation, rather, to simply be free to live,
As Me.
