Self.

no, i will not speak to you.

and no, i do not expect you to speak to me

i know what you think of me now that I'm sober

i knew what you thought of me when I would drink,

so I especially know what you think of me now that I'm clean.

these words weigh heavy in my chest, the base of my throat,

and cling to my ribcage, pulling and clawing to break from me

like some alien spawn.

or heave from my jaw, splattering in a hot and angry jumble of consonants and vowels,

covering the space between us.

i won't let them.

you don't deserve me now that i'm in control of my thoughts,

now that i have begun to love myself again.

you don't deserve me, but I know you don't care, either way.

I am helpless, a failure.

a waste of a potential life that could have been something good.

too bad i didn't get to choose my parents.