You ask me why I try so hard to seem “badass.”
Do you really want to know?
Do you really want to know that after growing up being treated like a freak,
Becoming scared of the very idea of being weak,
Of fighting and fighting and finding out
That my own worst enemy was my own fucking doubt,
That after a while the jeering would end,
But nothing could silence the cruelty in my own head?
Do you really want to know how I dole out pieces of my heart
In the hopes that in some way someone will take that part,
And value it more than I ever could —
That is, at all, yes, anything would be good.
Do you really want to know how I just stand still,
Waiting for something to use to fill,
The holes in my heart, missing pieces I gave
That got tossed in the trash, in a dump or a grave?
How I watched them take all I could give
And treat it like shit — that I cannot forgive.
And yet I’m a sadist I keep on giving
Pieces of myself when I’m barely living
And when I watch them drop my gift to the ground
Instead of picking it up I just turn around,
Grab the sharpest thing my hands can find,
Look for that hole and shove it inside
So where that piece of me did sit
Broken glass or nails replaces it.
Do you really want to know how I’m a cobblestone soul
Made of bits and pieces of once made up a whole?
How I have nothing left of myself to give
And I’m losing, losing the will to live?
How I can’t even find myself anymore
Lost in a mirror of who I had been before?
And I see her I see her but when I look inside
I see a heart of barbed wire, caffeine and cyanide.
A heart of brickwork cobbled together,
Holes filled in haphazardly with tar and feather,
Made ragged and sharp for the sole purpose of
A mockery of wholeness and desperation for love.
Do you really want to know that this front of “badass”
Is a mask to hide a heart of glass
That’s already shattered and cutting me
With fragmented pieces you cannot see
Because I’m “bad ass” and always want to fight,
So maybe outside you could see how at night
I touch my own heart and my fingers bleed
For all the jagged edges that do feed
The cobblestone monster inside chest
That’s hardly even me- what’s the rest?
A collection of overused, secondhand emotions,
Lost memories and loyalties and pointless devotions.
Yes, that is my heart that I desperately hide
With a bluffing aggressive mask outside,
A cobbled heart of broken things —
Touch it, I dare you, I promise it stings.
And even as I say just know I’ll give away
Another piece, another piece another bit, another day
Because I never learn and I keep trying to find someone who,
Can give me a method, something new,
To recover what is fading fast
And I need it now, because god, I won’t last.
Do you really want to know how truly, I’m fading slow
And this once silver heart has lost its glow,
How I sit on the floor and I stare at the wall
And feel … yes, I feel … nothing, at all?
So, do you really want to know?
Contact Olivia Staser at [email protected].