My Side to the Story

It started

and ended

with one phone call.

I reached out

over the line

with shaking hands

and a fast-beating heart

and told you about

the night I lost myself

and sought absolution

in a razor blade and

a tub full of water.

Our wires must've crossed;

you probably didn't

hear me correctly.

As my mother

you should've ran

screaming, through the streets

until you could catch me

and give me a shake

and bring me back into

my skin to say

suicide is never the answer.

Instead you replied

"Oh. Well you must know

you're very loved."

and hung up.

You left me sitting here

with my doubt and self-hatred

and you let them

have their way with me.

Now I am half the person

that I used to be.

I hide from the shadows

and keep my head down

so that nobody can see

the shame that still exists

bleeding out of my pores

and marking me

A Lost Cause.

Now I take two steps forward

and three steps back

every day, a disjointed rhythm

that started when you ended

that call, and haven't talked since.

I guess I finally know

that all you saw in me

was just a reminder

of the life you would've had

if you kept me.