I grew up hating myself for
someone else’s sins.
Not that you didn’t know
because, hell, how could you
not have known, right?
I’m my own worst enemy.
If I knew me the way you do,
I’d never be a friend to me.
Yet, here I am in me.
Uncomfortable in my own skin,
squirming to fit in.
I’m fighting the silence in solace in this
bedroom of shyness.
It’s pulling me under the weather,
making me say whatever comes to mind.
I’m afraid I’ll slip and sputter into regret.
And then, it’s too late to retrace
an apology — not that I’d actually mean it.
A friend to me, I’ll always be.
(© 2022 AC)