TANGLED THREADS

 Tangled Threads of Me.

Pathetically pretty,

my eyes—lined in black, lashes long—

frame a face I barely know.

A quiet clerk shedding her shell,

I step into a skin that feels borrowed,

transformed, yet trembling beneath.II.

Your absence creeps in,

a thief slipping time through my fingers.

I wander—not in purpose,

but in thoughts tangled like threads,

each one a lifeline I can’t hold.

I’ll be damned—

it’s always my heart on the edge,

teetering, tearing good things apart.III.

I trace the cracks back,

insecure roots mapped on a timeline

of shadowed years.

But I can’t seal every leak—

self-blame seeps through,

a steady drip of rewards I don’t earn,

restrictions I carve into my bones.

The fear that haunts me hums:

too much, not enough,

a refrain I can’t silence.IV.

Ghosts whisper loud in the dark,

their voices threading through my mind,

stitching inferiority into the quiet.

Loneliness hums,

solitude sighs—

broken or bent, I choose wrong,

shadows cast on a soul

that doesn’t reflect my best.V.

Too often misread,

pinned as something I’m not,

kindness turns me prey

to your innocent prodding.

Self-blame settles heavy,

and tonight feels right

to dim the noise—

television flickering,

tiring my eyes to a fragile sleep.