This is an old poem that I wrote that really resonates with my current feelings.<\/p>\n
It’s not the end of the world
\nIs the worst thing to say to someone like me.
\nIt will be okay, just give it time.
\nIs that supposed to save me?
\nThe world is your oyster, they say
\nEnjoy it.
\nBut how can I enjoy something that you’ll just swallow up.
\nHow can I enjoy something that will rot.
\nHow can i enjoy something that carries such a repugnant smell.
\nThe world burns my nostrils
\nThe world makes my eyes water.
\nThey water so much that my cheeks have grown raw.
\nSo raw that it burns to put on make up every day.
\nThus why I barely wear it anymore.
\nAnd the world comes and asks me why.
\nWhy do I hate it so much.
\nWhat did it ever do to me.
\nAnd every time I stare at myself naked in front of a mirror,
\nI think to myself that the world gave me this mind.
\nI think to myself that the world cut into my flesh as if it were a canvas and my blood was the paint.
\nI think to myself that the world told me I was fat.
\nI was worthless
\nI was pitiful.
\nBut somehow the world still has the nerve
\nTo smile in my face and ask of me to ravish it.
\nThe world gives me people to love, and then reveals that they are truly stone.
\nGranite.
\nAnd I have carved them out so beautifully
\nJust so they can dismantle me
\nBy thus proving that I am alone.
\nThe world presents itself with promises
\nSwearing that if I try, I can do anything.
\nThat love will always be there.
\nThat suffering will never last.
\nThe world tells me that I’m allowed to be happy.
\nBut supplies nothing to be happy about.
\nThe world does nothing but take, and take, until there is nothing left but the coping methods..
\nAnd I don’t even want those anymore.
\nThe world tells me that I am allowed to love,
\nBut I get ridiculed and left behind
\nFeeling !unappreciated, and worthless.
\nAnd I could sit there and tell my “friends” and my doctors how I feel
\nAnd all they tell me is that it’s not the end of the world.
\nThey tell me to take medications
\nBut my medications just make it worse.
\nThey tell to sleep and eat like a normal person, but what is a normal person in this world.
\nThey try to find diagnostics, and use statistics against me. They hear me but they are not listening.
\nIt’s not the end of the world.
\nThey tell me that I am sick.
\nThey label me with this and that, so many problems, can I even be fixed.
\nThey threaten me with hospitals
\nAnd swear that they will make it better
\nBut I have lived this way for so long
\nI have come to realize that there is no better.
\nSo do not tell me that it’s not the end of the world.
\nBecause one day the world will implode in on itself.
\nAnd we will all turn to stone.
\nOur flesh will melt from our bones
\nAnd we will scream at the top of our lungs
\nThe end of the world
\nIs every moment.
\nEvery day.
\nThe end of the world is now.
\nAnd you can’t tell me otherwise.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
This is an old poem that I wrote that really resonates with my current feelings. It’s not the end of the world Is the worst thing to say to someone like me. It will be okay, just give it time. Is that supposed to save me? The world is your oyster, they say Enjoy it. … Continue reading “End of the World”<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":35,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[4],"tags":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/blog.msabrookhaven.org\/literary\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5791"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/blog.msabrookhaven.org\/literary\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/blog.msabrookhaven.org\/literary\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/blog.msabrookhaven.org\/literary\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/35"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/blog.msabrookhaven.org\/literary\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=5791"}],"version-history":[{"count":3,"href":"https:\/\/blog.msabrookhaven.org\/literary\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5791\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":5796,"href":"https:\/\/blog.msabrookhaven.org\/literary\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5791\/revisions\/5796"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/blog.msabrookhaven.org\/literary\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=5791"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/blog.msabrookhaven.org\/literary\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=5791"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/blog.msabrookhaven.org\/literary\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=5791"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}