i work hard to hold this container of shit, knowing that the walls will crumble time & again as the stinking turned to soil. i work with those who believed in wholing love, to hold this pain, to carry these dead bodies whose love i feel, lips that will never be kissed again, loving whispers that support me now.
but u look at this & lie to me, saying I am not enough. u tell me u need someone who is loving -- tell me what's so awful about this body bound trauma? u say u need empathy -- why refuse to offer the same? and that my pain keeps me from being compassionate -- did u mean to shame me? i already know im a mistake & i didn't need reinforcement
instead ill take this fresh shit, pile it into the aching walls of my body, doing the work that it takes to heal while u chase the next high
ill be here turning over & again, until once more i sprout
keep sprouting
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