Dismal nights of screaming through the wall
Screaming loud enough to
I clutched my stuffed dog and prayed
that life would not always be like this.
I was never taught the love of
long soulful looks
I was taught the love of bickering
and grimacing through the day.
I’ve only known the love of
And a cold bed come morning
When I found love it was from a boy
I came to know love from
sobbing on the way home from food banks
and falling asleep empty.
I wonder if I’m too old to pray
that life will not always be like this
I look in the mirror and I loathe what I see. I know I used to better, I used to not hate myself. I can’t remember that time. It’s a distant memory before my sagging tummy and full cheeks.
I tell myself, well tomorrow I will start improving. I’ll go and try to make myself better. I hate myself because I know it’s a lie. I don’t have the willpower to do shit any more. Even though every time I walk from the bathroom to the bedroom without pants on and see my boyfriends eyes on me I want to cry.
With this much hatred you would think it would fuel me to something greater. Instead I feel like it’s sinking me, and I’m drowning in fat a failure.
Maybe this is how the rest of my life will be. Settling with not being good enough, hoping nothing better comes along for the other people in my life, because fuck knows I’m not good enough for someone to stick around.