Believe My Lies

Recently, I've been realizing a lot of things about myself and the world around me. This poem explains a bit of my thinking and is me admitting to my own self-realization.

The putrid smell of self-loathing and hatred

The nauseous feeling you get when you miss a step, your foot barely saving you from your so-called doom.

The vomit of confusion and pain violently explodes from my throat, reminding my of how long I’ve been holding it down.

You’re not actually sick if no one can see your symptoms, yes?

In that case, I have not been sick for at least six years.

No fever.

No pressure.

No decay inside my skull.

I refuse to take the medicines because I am not sick.

I can’t be sick.

I won’t let myself be sick.

So I cover my face, refusing to look at the bloodstained remains of my stomach on the bathroom floor.

Refuse to look at the embarrassment and denial on the bathroom floor, stranger.

Please ignore slashes in the curtains and on the mirrors; it’s nothing serious.

Pretend with me, and deny my disease

Because fantasy is so much better than reality,

And the me that lives in a wormhole halfway across the galaxy is so much more happier than the me that speaks to you today.

Author's Note

I more wrote this for personal reasons, but I feel like others can relate. How did you like it? Anything I need to change or work on?