I let my pen speak for me

I let my pen speak for me

When my voice remains silent and I need to vent. I speak the words from my pen while the ink colors the page with words that echoes my rage from the emotional attack that I endured and had pent up for days- with no outlet for release, no escape.

I let my pen speaks for me when you blatantly express your disappointment and disdain for the extra pounds that I have gain, all the while forgetting that I am human and I  feel pain.

Yet I am the one who has no shame because I overindulge in all the delicious meals that I make Ignoring the burns on my hands and the cut that I got from a broken plate.  'Don’t overreact' you said,  'you will be fine it’s only a small scrape'. After all the hours on my feet I was told to make myself some vegies and that the meal that I had prepared  I wasn’t to partake because I should be mindful of my calorie intake.

I let my pen speaks for me when you peel away all my layers, leaving me naked and bare. Just so you can point out to me all my unflattering features while you remind me that it’s only because you care. As if your words telling me how greedy I am and that I want to spoil my body is exactly what I want to hear- To put my rear in gear and go to the gym, eat healthy and exercise just so I can be slim. 'Then I will be perfect' he said,  'I will be perfect for him'.

But your words, your words they hurt, they cut me deep, they tear my skin. They shatter my self-esteem, destroy my confidence and break me down to nothing from within. I refuse  to look at myself,  afraid to see my reflection in a mirror because I am afraid of what it will confirm. That I am weak,   I am a coward and for your affection and attention I still yearn. I am ashamed that I have not learn  to love myself in a time that is progressive and so modern.

 I guess I am  holding on to the foundation that was once me,  the one  you used to build me up.  I am still in the depts of denial that you would tear me down to the level of an old broken down hut.

 Yet I feel  like I have been reduced to a figure with no value, an object, an image just for show. So I guess that is why you didn’t notice, you didn’t know. That I had become a flower that was never nurtured, I couldn’t grow.

But then again, you could not have known that I have become wilted because when I speak, you do not hear me because you do not see me and so you fail to listen. It seems you did not care that I was more than a body and that all the love and happiness that I should have been given was missing.

And so I continue to let my pen speak for me and the pages listen,  as I write you this letter to tell you that I have fled your cage . I am weary from living in a state of  self hate.

And though my freedom may come at a cost of making many mistakes, there is  a good chance that I can be great.

I would love to wish you well,  but I'm not there yet

All I can do at this difficult emotional time,  is wish that you will not have a horrible death.