Losing Count

Don’t want to go back

Don’t want to go back

Don’t want to go back

 

So, stay.

 

But I don’t want to be here either

 

I want to be where I can’t

 

I want what I can’t have

I want the air to smell sweet

To come home and feel like it is worthy of its name

 

I want my life to start

 

I want my mom.

I miss my mom.

 

I want to feel important.

 

I don’t want to feel alone anymore

I don’t want to be alone anymore

 

I want to hug people not toys

 

Everything is not all right.

 

I am not all right

I am not OK

I am not anything

 

I am nothing.

 

I am damaged

I am my problems

 

I am anywhere but here and now

Not wanting to die

But not wanting to live either

 

Wanting

to run. Wanting

an escape. Wanting

to feel good about myself. Wanting

my calorie intake to not be the numerical representation of my self-worth. Wanting

to stop hiding from the world.

 

I want

 

the world to stop hiding from me

 

Well, the good parts at least.

 

I’m running out of steam

But never seem to be running

out of sadness.

 

Copyright notice:

© Zeinab Hassan Fawaz and Broken Dolls, 2016. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited.

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