Proud

I’m proud of you.

We’re so proud of you.

Don’t forget I’m still proud of you.

Of my ability to pass for normal,

The way I now fit as a cog in the machine.

For getting up every morning.

Having a full-time job,

That makes me miserable some days,

And numb the rest of the time really,

I don’t think I’m happier now.

But you are more proud

That has to count for something.

Your pride in me stings like some invisible wound some days,

I do not feel like I have accomplished something.

I’m not sure when I last wanted to die this much.

I have been working full time for over a month now.

It went by so quickly,

I’m not sure why everyone thinks this is a good thing.

I am losing myself.

No time for things I enjoy,

I have to work now.

Earn money to pay bills,

Spend money on things I don’t really need,

Things I hope will make me happy.

It never works as well as I’d hoped.

I miss lying in bed writing poetry and thinking about my nebulous future,

I hate this box I’ve found myself in.

It feels far too much like a coffin,

A pine box, buried underground and I am running out of air down here.

I know why you are proud of me,

I’ve come so far from where I was, achieved so much,

But can’t you see how much of myself I am losing along the way,

Pieces of me chipping off until all that remains is the skeleton,

The bare bones of a person,

Ready to be remade in a more palatable image,

Someone who obeys the whims of society without question or complaint,

I don’t want a full-time job,

I never really did.

It chafes at me in the worst way,

I was born too free to fit in this box,

Why are you proud of my contortionist tricks?

Even if I left this box my body would still be bent,

I’m not sure if I will be able to realign myself,

Parts of me might always be broken.

I’m still hoping for a miracle,

An 11th-hour reprieve.

I won’t kill myself, don’t worry.

I won’t quit.

I wouldn’t want to disappoint you.