You’re nice. You’re so nice, with your surety and gentle voice, knowing which words to skip and which to break apart, which to roll over the board, flattening it with a rolling pin, doing it again, which to bake in the oven, watch it rise, rise, rise, taken out, icing being put on and decorated with flowers, which to put on display. Which to wear so nicely. So nice. Not me. I stare at your words; watch how you decorate it so intricately, hands so careful, so steady, and my stomach turns queasy, dying, and hating. And I take them, I take what I can and fill my pockets with it. They fill my shoes too, every inch of the souls. I walk around with them, heavy as rocks, and I’m so tired. I'm so tired and į eat them. You are so much of me till I don't recognize who į am anymore. I hide behind the fortress you built, and you don't even realize the fraud I am. You don't even know who your shadow is.
You’re so nice, but I hate myself around you.
autopilot and I don’t know how to be better
Author
Cerene
The Abandoned Woman, Female
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