I’m so ashamed of myself.
What am I doing? Why am I here?
Why am I silent yet again?
Why is there so much I have still to say?
I can’t really be angry yet,
Not quite alive enough to self-loathe,
And not enough to hate,
Just enough to have this gnawing…
It grows inside of me,
Eating at what is left of who I was
And what I want in me
What if I were finally to speak up now?
What if I stopped the silent charade?