Carnivore

I let myself breathe again.
I felt it would be good if you knew how to get inside of my skin.
I felt comfortable enough to show you flesh and muscle.
You looked so anxious and so hungry.
I believe maybe you decided against it and if you didn't that's okay.
Sometimes I only see what I want to see.
I could adjust my prescription but I don't think it would make it any better.
I'm not having any trouble sleeping.
I'm not having any trouble forgiving myself for being naive.
I don't appreciate this grown up life that's been thrown on my plate.
You can't serve my roast on a garbage lid...
it won't taste the same.

There are always signs.
I've read them.
One said... keep going. Another... things aren't what they seem.
Even with my eyes wide open I'm blind to see that this is what's real.
It doesn't hurt. It's inevitable. It's the truth.

I surrender. I know the world is right here in my face and I choose not to look.
It keeps looking at me though.
The world has sympathetic eyes.
It's as though it's waiting for me to fall apart.
I'm not going to though.
I've got some strength left in me and I just can't give up yet.
The world, I can't escape. 
I'm stuck here cutting and pasting the memories that I created.
I created it because it felt so good.

There's tears sitting in my eyes that won't fall out.
If I blink they'll slide down my cheek but it's not my pillow that I lie upon.
I grow weary that no one will ever understand.
I grow weary that I say one thing but do another.
I grow weary that I'll just outgrow everything and with everything I'll outgrow everyone.

Then again... I could just let myself breathe again.
I realize that I don't know what you need.
I can't be what you want,
and as appetizing as it may seem,
I simply cannot give up my meat for you.

Author's Note

Seven years old