Words from an Insomniac still trying to find her way

Honesty is a broken glass

I was comfortable once,

numb inside my mother’s womb

Now I go about, licking wounds

taste the bitterness upon cold lips.

Comfortable,

far away in my own ideas

when outside there is nothing clean.

I will not look in their eyes

anymore,

I won’t try to figure out

what they were here for.

I will not try to feel their worth

nothing’s there,

Numb, inside their wretchedness

excuses for a small crowd who never cared.

I was miserable

but comfortable in my real skin

counted each blessing

one by bloody one.

While I was ignored and admired

from afar

as long as they didn’t have to touch

have to call, or bother at all.

Comfortable,

walking away from all the “feed”

of pointless points

they were trying to tweet.

Makes me want to be written

out of the family will

cast aside with no ill will

no great loss, or grief to spill.

We’ll all go on just like we do

and quit pretending.

My life no longer concerns you.

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