My mind hurts because I feel my intelligence is forcibly measured by a number on a page.
My heart hurts because hugs and kisses have been replaced with screams and doubtful grudges.
My body hurts because it is bruised by fists, cut by claws and paper slips, burned by public embarrassment, and cold from anxiety.
My soul hurts because it cannot portray what it feels. My body nor mind is capable of showing without bias the truth under my cold, cracking skin. I feel like if I could somehow phrase what I feel into words that she wouldn’t take offense to then I would be understood.
I do not wish for pity nor for others to solve my problems. I just wish to be loved and cared for, to be welcomed home and to be tangible, no more invisible nights where I could be nestled six feet under the snow or six feet under the cold blankets of a dark room.
I do not wish to be judged in the way people judge. They judge character based on actions and this is not the way of the soul. I wish I’d never said the mean things I’ve said, they weren’t true and now every day they are held over my head. I said them because I judged character based on actions and I was wrong.
I wish I wasn’t such a bird with broken wings. I know it’s cliché but I have a bird’s fragility without the strength of their lungs or the ability to lift myself off the ground and into the sky.
I want to go home and sleep for awhile, I need the visits of the angel in my dreams. I need the comfort of a blank room, the warmth of a bed, her voice in my ear. I want to feel like I am not a failure, like I am valued, like I am not a shadow on the wall, the ghost in the cellar, the elephant in the room.