I have a confession

I have a confession to make.

Last week when you asked me if I was fine, I was lying.
If I'm being honest, before you called me I was crying.
I guess I find it hard to tell you the truth when you're wanting a short reply;
I can't give that to you.
It's just the situation is complicated, and I am too.

I have to confess,

I'm not ready for the words to leave my mouth.
They get tangled in the base of my throat.
And every time I try to cough them up, I choke.
I think I’ve swallowed too much, I’m bursting at the seams.
I’ve carefully crafted the person I want you to see.
You’ve only seen glimpses and pieces of loose strings.
I travel with a sewing kit in my bag for emergencies.

Could you promise that you won't disappear, if I finally come clean?
You can say you would but it wont be enough for me to believe.
Could you promise to silence the thoughts that tell me your words aren't true?

Do your thoughts also conspire against you?

I have to confess,

I feel emotionally drained.
Shame takes pride in leeching off my pain.
I had faith that the stars would align my life.
I didn't want the doctor to be right.
I can’t run away from my DNA.
I'm tired of fighting for a life I didn't create.
And praying to a god that put me here in the first place.

I never feel safe.
I just wait for the next time I'll break.
I hate
that I have to save face.
That my toilet bowl has became a waste bin for mistakes.
I hate
the constant defeat, when I try my best to break free.
My body is the biggest target of my aim.
I hate
that it's falling apart and I'm the only one to blame.
I'm both behind the knife, and facing the blade.
Sometimes it’s always a struggle to live this way.

Sorry,
word vomit.

When I'm nervous I overshare too much.
You can't take back what you heard.

I have to confess,

the next time you ask,
I'll keep up with the lie.
I think it's best for the both of us if the answers remains "fine".