The Way I Feel

Sometimes

feeling things is too hard.

I shut it out

as long as I can

but not forever.

It's in every breath,

every thought,

every choice.

A living thing,

the way I feel,

separate from myself and

with roots so deep you can't see where they end

from the top, looking down.

Sometimes

I think

I feel things that my family members

don't feel,

that other people don't feel.

Sometimes I think that every word

that comes out of my mouth

is a lie.

Sometimes I think

I've spent so much time trying to forget the things I've done

that I've forgotten who I was,

who I am.

I sometimes wonder why I hate people

and hate myself.

And I wonder if Love became too much,

too heavy,

so that I've become repulsed by it,

because I don't have to be vulnerable when I am cruel.

And that is why, I think,

I am alone.

Sometimes I think I am unlovable.

That no one could see

every part of me

and want to love it all,

want to stay.