ShatteredShards
Lost One
- Aug 26, 2024
- 32
When the moment takes me, more often than I prefer to admit, I read the unfiltered sorrow that is my existence. It's as if I'm this frustrating side character in my own story; always spectating the moments of 'joy', never actually living them, just meekly observing the events unfold as I bore the audience half to death with my half arsed performances. There are few remarkable traits to speak of and fewer characteristics in who I am: a plain male of no consequence, just a sense of decency and kindness towards others, layered in baseless skills and performance. At least that's what reality has lead me to believe.
I am unremarkable and expendable. My abilities? Gifts to others: the food I cook, the art I produce, the words I offer, even my body, all to the benefit of those who I care deeply. Without giving I lose usefulness and purpose. And it's rendered my very identity empty, my form exhausted and purpose aimless. It's difficult to see the line between the performance and who I am anymore, but like the useful person I am, I keep on going, keep giving, because that's what I've been shown to be, all I'll ever be. And you know what the saddest part is? There's no end. It never stops. There's no true reprieve, as if rest and bliss was slowly gouged from core. Each pass cutting deeper and deeper into my nervous system, breaking point after breaking point, fracture after fracture, dismissal after dismissal and it makes me scared. Scared of what's going to end me; the world we live in or by my own hand.
My body and mind has been through so much at the hands of cruel people, I even can't remember the last time I laid next to someone without pressure or fear. That soft feeling of being in a lover's warm safe embrace is a pipe dream and pipe bomb all in one. I avert my eyes at suggestive sights, flinch at physical contact from women and brace at the sounds of anger in their voices... It's a like I'm terrified child all over again. Though when I come back, back to reality, out from the nightmare of the past, I remember that my body will always be contaminated in ways that cannot be washed away, touched by dirty hands that never let go or loosen.
I don't have any expectations with posting this here. Guess I'm just thinking of it as crying into the void, hoping someone in there can hear me, another man like me.
I am unremarkable and expendable. My abilities? Gifts to others: the food I cook, the art I produce, the words I offer, even my body, all to the benefit of those who I care deeply. Without giving I lose usefulness and purpose. And it's rendered my very identity empty, my form exhausted and purpose aimless. It's difficult to see the line between the performance and who I am anymore, but like the useful person I am, I keep on going, keep giving, because that's what I've been shown to be, all I'll ever be. And you know what the saddest part is? There's no end. It never stops. There's no true reprieve, as if rest and bliss was slowly gouged from core. Each pass cutting deeper and deeper into my nervous system, breaking point after breaking point, fracture after fracture, dismissal after dismissal and it makes me scared. Scared of what's going to end me; the world we live in or by my own hand.
My body and mind has been through so much at the hands of cruel people, I even can't remember the last time I laid next to someone without pressure or fear. That soft feeling of being in a lover's warm safe embrace is a pipe dream and pipe bomb all in one. I avert my eyes at suggestive sights, flinch at physical contact from women and brace at the sounds of anger in their voices... It's a like I'm terrified child all over again. Though when I come back, back to reality, out from the nightmare of the past, I remember that my body will always be contaminated in ways that cannot be washed away, touched by dirty hands that never let go or loosen.
I don't have any expectations with posting this here. Guess I'm just thinking of it as crying into the void, hoping someone in there can hear me, another man like me.
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