This room that I thought was my special place of freedom, I get to be in and express my self.
Is actually
My prison, the place I have to be. The only place i get to be my true self. I am bound to just exist on these walls that began with lies and misrepresentation of who I was supposed to be, covered up so desperately with who I am
If these walls had ears they would hear my silence where there should be cries. If these walls had eyes they would see how worthless and wasteful I am. If these walls had mouths they would tell me of the pain and suffering seen.
But they just have posters and pictures and paintings, the parts of me that I let people see
I’m not even myself with my self
(An old poem I wrote when living with my abusive folks)
mind vomit 