Enough

What is acceptance?
What is rejection?
What is love?
What is blame?

It’s guilt.

I was born clean.

Yet I was the cause
of others’ misfortune.

I made them deviate
from their plans.

They sacrificed for me
a debt
I couldn’t pay back.

I was a child.

I existed.

I had no history,
no motive,
no intent.

I was simply there.

I searched for the “thing.”

I dwelled on the past.
I sifted through,
every lie or misstep
created sin.

I obsessed,
believing I had done
something unforgivable.

But there was no source.

I was the thing.

Nothing was wrong with me.

I was simply wrong

like a mistake.

I was desperate.

I didn’t know
how to love myself.

If I could be
what someone needed,

I had a purpose.

I would indulge them
any desire
even degrading myself.

Love meant

sacrifice.

I didn’t know
I had my own

needs.

I was chosen
which meant
I was worthy.

And when they left

“What did I do?”

Not

“What did they do?”

To be good

I have to prove
that I am better
than my past.

If my past
caught up with me,

I’d want to be

forgiven.

To belong

you must conform.

Act.

Everything must appear
“normal.”

I will never have
a place there.

I talk people out of
compliments.

They must have been tricked.

"You’re wrong."

"I’m bad."

Trying to be normal
has cost me

time.

I rush through my days,
trying to find
a spare moment
to breathe.

If I can hold
every thing together,

I must be okay.

I don’t believe
in myself.

My confidence
isn’t real.

Trying to stop people
from leaving

means abandoning

my own life.

My own dignity.

I don’t matter.

They do.

Why am I here?

I shouldn’t be.

Enough has cost me

everything.

If I stop trying,

the things I did
will stay

like a stain
on my permanent record.

This is
a way of life.

I don’t know how
to exist
without it.

I don’t know
how to be anything more
than I already am.

I can’t stop myself.

But I’ve had enough.